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OF 


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Corson' 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


I" 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

-     '      "AY  *      ,93,  I  ^„,  ,      . 

STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 


X 


L    '         ' 


Primer  of  English  Verse 
state  normal  school, 

LOS  AKGH^-EB.  -:-OAL 

CHIEFLY    IN    ITS    /ESTHETIC    AND 
ORGANIC    CHARACTER 


BY 


HIRAM   CORSON,    LL.D. 

Professor  of  English  Literature  in  the  Cornell  University 


^', 


BOSTOxN,  U.S.A. 
PUBLISHED    BY   GINN   &   COMPANY 

1893 


(.'OI-VRK.MT,    1891, 

»v    IIIKAM    CORSON. 
All  Ri(.ht>  Rksehvep. 


Tvf^.tAriiv    tv     I     ^     rt-Miisr.    9i    Cn.,    TlniTOfj,   t'.S.A. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS. 


PACES 

Poetic  Unities  ;.nd  their  Origin 1,2 

Enforcing,  Fusing,  and  Combining  Principles  uk  Poetic 

Unities 3-31 

a.  Accent 3,  4 

b.  Melody 4-21 

c.  Harmony  and  Rhyme ; 21-31 

Effects  produced  by  Exceptional  and  Varied  Metres..  32-34 
Effects  produced  by  a  Shifting  of  the   Regular  Ac- 
cent, AND  by  Additional  Unaccented  Syllables.  .  35-50 

Examples  of  Organic  Variety  of  Measures 51-68 

From  Shakespeare 5 '-56 

"        Tennyson's  '  Princess ' 56-63 

Tennyson's  '  Idylls  of  the  King ' 63-68 

Some  of  Tennyson's  Stanzas 69-86 

The  Stanza  of  '  In  Memoriam  ' 69-77 

"    '  The  Two  Voices  ' 78,  79 

I'he  Palace  of  An  ' 79-S4 

"          "        "    'The  Daisy'  and  of  'To  Rev.  F.  D.  Mau- 
rice*   84-80 

iii 


iv  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

PACES 

The  Spenserian  Stanza 87-107 

The  I'ictorial  Adaptcdncss  of  the  Spenserian  Stanza 100-106 

The    Si'ENSERiAN    Stanza    as    employed    by  Subsequent 

Poets 108-133 

Thomson's  'Castle  of  Indolence' 109-111 

Shelley's  '  Laon  and  Cythna  ' 1 1 1  -1 1 7 

Shelley's  *  Adonais ' 1 1 7-1 20 

Keats's  '  Eve  of  St.  Agnes  ' 1 20- 1 25 

Byron's  *  Childe  Harold  ' '-5-»3' 

Tennyson's  '  Lotos- Eaters ' '  32i  •  33 

The    Influence   of  the  Spenserian    Stanza  on  Oiiikk 

Modes  of  Stanza  Structure 1 34-142 

The  Sonnet •43-i85 

(JENFJIAL    REMARKi    O.N    ULANK    VeRSE...                     186-I92 

Milton's  Bi^nk  Verse 193-220 

Postscript  on  Some  Blank  Verse  since  Mu.ton 220-226 

Index 227-232 


A   PRIMER   OF   ENGLISH   VERSE. 


oXKc 


POETIC    UNITIES    AND    THEIR    ORIGIN. 

THE  principal  coefficients  of  poetic  expression 
are  Rhythm,  Metre,  Stanza,  Rhyme,  Assonance, 
Alliteration,  Melody,  and  Harmony,  which  seem  to  be 
all  due,  when  they  are  vital  and  organic,  to  the  unify- 
ing action  of  feeling  or  emotion.  When  strong  feeling 
is  in  any  way  objectified,  a  unifying  process  sets  in. 
The  insulated  intellect,  in  its  action,  tends  rather  in 
an  opposite  direction  —  that  is,  in  an  analytic  direc- 
tion. It  matters  not  upon  what  feeling  or  emotion  is 
projected,  or  with  what  it  is  incorporated ;  it  will  be 
found  that  in  all  cases  it  is  unifying  or,  to  use  a  word 
coined  by  Coleridge,  esemplastic,  in  its  action.  If  we 
look  at  a  landscape  coldly  or  indifferently,  we  may 
be  cognizant  of  its  various  elements  or  phases ;  but 
there  is  little  or  no  effort  to  grasp  it  as  a  whole,  and 
to  subject  all  its  elements  to  some  principle  of  harmony 
or  fusion.  At  another  time,  when  our  feelings  are 
active,  and  the  intellect  is  in  a  more  or  less  negative 
state,  there  will  be  a  spontaneous  and,  it  may  be.  a 
quite  unconscious  effort  to  ujiify  that  same  landscape, 

I 


2  POETIC   VXITIES  AXD    THEIR    ORIC/.V. 

to  subject  all  its  clcmcnlb  u.  .mmuc  principle  of  har- 
mony—  to  fuse  the  primal  units,  so  to  speak,  into 
one  complex  unit.  It  may  be  that  the  landscape  is 
composed  of  very  incongruous  elements ;  but  even 
then,  the  feelings,  if  abnormally  active,  by  reason  of 
some  associations  either  of  pleasure  or  pain,  or  from 
some  other  cause,  may  project  upon  it  a  light  or  a 
shade  that  will  bind  together  its  otherwise  inhar- 
monious features. 

Now  as  soon  as  feeling  is  embodied  in  speech,  and 
to  the  degree  to  which  it  is  embodied,  we  find  that 
speech  is  worked  up,  more  or  less  distinctly  or  em- 
phatically, into  unities  of  various  kinds.  The  primal 
unit,  the  unit  of  measure,  we  call /<?<'/,  which  is  made 
up  of  two  or  more  vocal  impulses,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  feeling  which  evolves  it.  This  primal 
unit  is  combined  into  a  higher  unity,  which  is  called 
verse,  and  this,  in  its  turn,  is  combined  into  a  still 
higher  unity,  which  is  called  stanza,  and  so  on. 
Rhythm  is  a  succession  and  involution  of  unities,  that 
is,  unities  within  unities.  The  term  is  as  applicable 
to  a  succession  of  verses  as  to  a  succession  of  feet, 
and  to  a  succession  of  stanzas  as  to  a  succession  of 
verses. 


II. 


ENFORCIXG.  FUSING,  AND  COMBINING  PRINCIPLES 
OF   POETIC   UNITIES. 

a.    Accent. 

NOW  we  find  that  each  class  of  unities  has  its 
enforcing,  or  fusing,  or  combining  principle  — 
the  agency  by  which  it  is  more  or  less  strongly  marked 
and  individualized ;  that  of  the  primal  unit,  foot,  we 
call  accent.  What  accent  really  is,  it  does  not  now 
concern  us  to  consider.  There  is  not  a  general  agree- 
ment among  prosodists  as  to  ^c/iat  it  really  is.  But 
whatever  it  is,  whether  the  vowel  or  syllable  on  which 
it  occurs  is  distinguished  from  the  rest  of  the  word 
by  an  increased  sharpness  of  tone,  or  by  an  increased 
force  or  loudness,  or  whether  it  unites  both,  it  is  a 
sufficiently  valid  phenomenon,  for  any  one  with  ears 
to  appreciate  its  function  in  modern  verse.  When 
the  following  lines  are  pronounced,  everybody  knows 
which  syllables  are  distinguished  bv  the  accent : 

At  the  close  of  the  dav.  when  the  hamlet  is  still, 
And  mortals  the  sweets  of  torgettulness  prove,   . 
Wh^n  ijaught  but  the  torre*ht  Ts  heard  on  the  hill^ 
And  naught  but  tlie  nightingaTe's  song  in  the  grove,  etc. 

Every  kind  of  foot  consists  of  one,  and  only  one, 
accented  syllable  and  one  or  two  unaccented.  The 
principal  feet  in  P^nglish  verse  are  : 

3 


A  ENFORCING,   FUSING,   AND    COMBINING 

1.  An  accented  syllable  preceded  by  one  unac- 
cented ; 

2.  An  accented  syllable  followed  by  one  unac- 
cented ; 

3.  An  accented  syllable  jireceded  by  two  unac- 
cented ; 

4.  An  accented  syllable  followed  by  two  unac- 
cented ; 

5.  An  accented  syllable  preceded  and  followed  by 
an  unaccented.  « 

I  f  rt  be  used  to  represent  an  accented  syllable,  and 
X,  an  unaccented,  these  several  feet  may  be  indicated 
as  follows :  \,xa\  2,  ax;  3,-1.17?;  4,^x1';  5,  .tv/a.' 
\^^'^  A  v<-rsi'rnn>;i'stincr  nf  twn  fe^iL  or  measures,  is  Called 
*^^^ftimctcr  ;  of  tliiix^  a  trime.ter;  of  four,  a  tetrameter; 
of  five,  a  jjcntameter;  of  six,  a  hexameter;  and  so 
on.  An  xa  pentameter  may  be  indicated  as  a  "^xa; 
an  ax  tetrameter,  as  a  ^ax\  an  xxa  tetrameter,  as  a 
^xxa;  an  axx  dimeter,  as  a  2axx\  and  so  on. 

A  stanza  consisting  of  four' 5.17;  verses,  that  of 
Gray's  '  Klegy,'  for  example,  may  be  indicated  as  4 
(5.171).  A  sonnet  may  be  indicated  as  14(5^77); 
the  Spenserian  stanza,  as  tS(5477)  I  Gxa. 

l>.    MF.r.oiiv. 

The  lusin;^  or  combining  principle  or  agency  of  a 
verse  is  Aftlody.  We  often  meet  with  verses  which 
scan,  as  we  say,  all  right,  and  yet  we  feel  that  they 
have  no  vitality  as  verses.     This  may,  in  most  cases,  be 

'  Tlii*  i»  I  inclh<Kl  of  metrical  notaliun,  in  his  '  llandlwuk  of 

thr  l'!rH^li<tli   I  .     •  .' 


V^' 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  5 

attributed  to  their  purely  mechanical  or  cold-blooded 
structure.  They  are  not  the  product  of  feeling,  which 
attracts  to  itself  (a  great  fact)  vocal  elements,  either 
vowels  or  consonants,  which  chime  well  together,  and 
in  accord  with  the  feeling ;  but  they  are  rather  the 
product  of  literary  skill.  The  writer  had  no  song,  no 
music  in  his  soul,  when  he  composed  them,  and  he 
should  have  written,  if  he  wrote  at  all,  in  straight- 
forward prose.  But  when  we  read  such  verses  as  the 
following,  we  know  what  must  have  been  back  of 
their  composition  : 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  ! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears  :  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

—  Merchant  of  Venice,  5.  i.  54-57. 

Not  wholly  in  the  busy  world,  nor  quite 

Beyond  it,  blooms  the  garden  that  I  love. 

News  from  the  humming  city  comes  to  it 

In  sound  of  funeral  or  of  marriage  bells  ; 

And,  sitting  muffled  in  dark  leaves,  you  hear 

The  wmdy  clanging  of  the  minster  clock  ; 

Although  between  it  and  the  garden  lies 

A  league  of  grass,  washed  by  a  slow  broad  stream. 

That,  stirred  with  languid  pulses  of  the  oar. 

Waves  all  its  lazy  lilies,  and  creeps  on, 

Barge-laden,  to  three  arches  of  a  bridge 

Crowned  with  the  minster  towers.     The  fields  between 

Are  dewy  fresh,  browsed  by  deep-uddered  kine, 

And  all  about,  the  large  lime  feathers  low. 

The  lime,  a  summer  home  of  murmurous  wings. 

—  Tennyson's  The  Gardiner's  Dauf^hter;  or,  the  Pictures. 

Oh,  good  gigantic  smile  o'  the  brown  old  earth, 
This  autumn  morning  !     How  he  .sets  his  bones 


ENFORCING,   FUSING,    AND    COMBINING 

To  \y,\sk  \  ihc  sun,  and  tlinisls  out  knees  and  tcct 
/•i;r  the  ripple  to  run  in>er  in  Us  mirth  ; 
Listening  tlie  wliilc,  where  on  the  heap  ot  stones 
The  white  breast  of  the  sea-lark  twitters  sweet. 

—  Brovvninc's  yanifs  Lff's  H'i/t.     VII.  Among  tin  Rocks. 

With  heart  a.s  cahn  as  lakes  that  sleep. 

In  frosty  moonlight  glistening; 
Or  mountain  rivers,  where  they  creep 
Along  a  channel  smooth  and  deej). 

To  their  own  far-off  murmurs  listening. 

Wordsworth's  Memory  (7th  Sianza). 

And  Arthur  came,  and  labouring  up  the  pass. 

All  in  a  misty  moonshine,  unawares 

Had  trodden  that  crowned  skeleton,  and  tiit-  skull 

IJrake  from  the  nape,  and  from  the  skull  the  crown 

Rolled  into  light,  and  turning  on  its  rims. 

Fled  like  a  glittering  rivulet  to  the  tarn  : 

And  down  the  shingly  .scaur  he  plunged,  and  caught. 

And  set  it  on  his  head,  and  in  his  heart 

fk-ard  murmurs.  Lo.  thou  likewise  shalt  be  king. 

—  Tensvsoss  Elaine. 

The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks : 

The  long  day  wanes  :  the  slow  moon  climbs  :  the  deep 

Moans  round  with  many  voices. 

—  Tennyson's  Ulytses. 

The  mountain  wooded  to  the  peak,  the  lawns 

And  winding  glades  high  uj)  like  ways  to  Heaven. 

The  slender  coco's  droojjing  crown  of  plumes, 

The  lightning  flash  of  insect  and  of  bird. 

The  lustre  of  the  long  convolvulu.ses 

That  coiled  around  the  stately  stems,  and  ran 

Kv'n  to  the  limit  of  the  land,  the  glows 

And  glories  of  the  broad  belt  of  the  world. 

All  these  he  saw ;  but  what  he  fain  had  seen 

He  could  not  see,  the  kindly  human  face. 

Nor  ever  hear  a  kindly  voice,  but  heard 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  7 

The  myriad  shriek  of  wheeling  ocean-fowl. 

The  league-long  roller  thundering  on  the  reef, 

The  moving  whisper  of  huge  trees  that  branched 

And  blossomed  in  the  zenith,  or  the  sweep 

Of  some  precipitous  rivulet  to  the  wave, 

As  down  the  shore  he  ranged,  or  all  day  long 

Sat  often  in  the  seaward-gazing  gorge, 

A  shipwrecked  sailor,  waiting  for  a  sail : 

No  sail  from  day  to  day,  but  every  day 

The  sunrise  broken  into  scarlet  shafts 

Among  the  palms  and  ferns  and  precipices ; 

The  blaze  upon  the  waters  to  the  east ; 

The  blaze  upon  his  island  overhead ; 

The  blaze  upon  the  waters  to  the  west ; 

Then  the  great  stars  that  globed  tliemselves  in  Heaven, 

The  hollower-bellowing  ocean,  and  again 

The  scarlet  shafts  of  sunrise  —  but  no  sail. 

—  Tennyson's  Enoch  A  rden. 

Now  came  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad  : 
Silence  accompanied  :  for  beast  and  l)ird. 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests. 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale  : 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung : 
Silence  was  pleased.     Now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  .sapphires  :  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  Moon, 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length 
Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  ])eerless  light. 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw\ 

—  Paradise  Lost,  iv.  598-609. 

Immediately  the  mountains  huge  appear 
Emergent,  and  their  broad  bare  backs  upheave 
Into  the  clouds  ;  their  tops  ascend  the  sky  : 
So  high  as  heaved  the  tumid  hills,  so  low 
Down  sunk  a  hollow  i)ottom  broad  and  deep. 
Capacious  bed  of  waters  :  thither  they 


\ 


g  ENFORC/XG,   FUSING,   AND   COMBINING 

Hasted  with  glad  precipitance.  uproUed 

As  drops  on  dust  conglobing  from  tlie  dry ; 

Part  rise  in  crystal  wall,  or  ridge  direct. 

For  haste ;  such  Hight  the  great  command  impressed 

On  the  swift  Hoods  :  as  armies  at  the  call 

Of  trumiK't  (for  of  armies  thou  hast  heard) 

Troop  to  their  standard,  so  the  watery  throng. 

Wave  rolling  after  wave,  where  way  they  found. 

If  steep,  with  torrent  ra|)ture,  if  thro'  plain. 

Soft-ebbing;  nor  withstood  them  rock  or  hill. 

Hut  they,  or  under  ground,  or  circuit  wide 

With  seriK-nl  error  wandering,  found  their  way. 

And  on  the  washy  ooze  deep  channels  wore.* 

—  I'aradise  Lost,  vii.  385-303. 

Light  thickens,  and  the  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood : 
Ciood  things  of  clay  begin  to  dr()oi)and  drowse. 
Whiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. 

—  Shakkspeare's  Macbeth,  3.  a.  50-53. 

Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora. 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world. 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  owedst  yesterday. 

—  Siiakksi-f.akk's  Othello,  3.  3.  330-333. 

The  busy  larke.  mess-iger  of  daye. 
Saluelh  in  hire  song  the  morwe  gray  ; 
And  fyry  I'hebus  ryseth  up  so  bright. 
That  al  the  orient  laugheth  of  the  light. 
And  with  his  stremes  dryeth  in  the  greves 
The  silver  drojK'S,  hongyng  on  the  leeves. 

—  Chaiichm's  I'    T  ,  1493-1498  (llarleian  le«l). 

Such  pass.'i^cs  as  these  the  .studciil  .should  memo- 
rize, .ind  fre(|iiently  repeat,  if  he  would  tullivate  a 
sense  of  melody  and  harmony 

'  .Sec  (<cnc«iH  i.  9. 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  q 

The  principles  of  melodious  combinations  of  vowels 
have  not  yet  been  established,  so  far  as  it  is  within 
the  possibilities  of  analysis  to  establish  them.  But 
iny  one  with  an  ear  for  vowel  melody  can  appreciate 
it  in  a  verse,  and  could  distinguish,  perhaps,  nice 
degrees  of  melody  in  a  number  of  given  verses  ranging 
through  a  pretty  wide  gamut.  But  he  would  not  be 
able  to  set  forth  all  the  secrets  of  the  different  degrees 
of  melody.  Yet  these  secrets  are,  to  some  extent, 
within  the  possibilities  of  analysis.  A  noting  of  all 
the  more  musical  lines  of  Shakespeare,  and  of  a  few 
other  great  authors,  might  lead  to  valuable  results 
toward  determining  more  of  the  secrets  of  melodious 
fusion  than  we  yet  possess. 

The  melody  secured  through  consonants  is,  to  the 
general  ear,  more  readily  appreciable,  and  can  be 
more  easily  explained.  Much  of  it  has  a  physiological 
basis,  depending  on  the  greater  or  less  ease  with 
which  the  organs  of  speech  articulate  certain  succes- 
sive consonants.  Though  the  vowel  element  plays 
the  main  part  in  the  melody  and  harmony  of  verse 
(representing,  as  it  does,  the  more  spiritual  element 
of  form),  all  the  great  English  poets  from  Chaucer 
to  Tennyson  make  frequent  and  effective  use  of  allit- 
eration. It  veins  the  entire  surface  of  English  poetry 
to  an  extent  but  little  suspected  by  most  readers. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  effective  alliteration  which 
passes  unnoticed  by  reason  of  its  being  upon  internal, 
instead  of  initial,  consonants.  It  contributes,  never- 
theless, to  the  melodious  fusion  of  the  verse,  though 
it  may  entirely  evade  the  consciousness  as  an  element 
of  the  melody. 


lO  £XJOAL/\o.   iisJXo.   AXn    COA/fl/X/XG 

From  a  remark  which  Chaucer  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  his  Parson,  it  has  been  wrongly  inferred  that  he 
(Chaucer)  had  a  contempt  for  alliteration.  The  Par- 
son says,  in  the  Prologue  to  his  Tale,  '  I  can  not 
gestc  —  rom,  ram,  ruf  —  by  lettre  ' ;  but  in  the  next 
line,  he  adds,  *  Nc,  god  wot,  rym  holde  I  but  litel 
bcttrc 

So  it  might  be  as  fairly  inferred  that  Chaucer  held 
rhyme  in  small  esteem.  Hut  all  the  '  Canterbury  Tales ' 
arc  in  rhyme,  except  the  Parson's  Tale,  and  the 
Tale  of  Melibosus,  which  the  poet  himself  is  sup- 
posed to  tell.  However  Chaucer  may  have  regarded 
alliteration  (it  may  have  been  in  his  mind,  it  certainly 
was,  identified  with  the  literature  which  was  nearest 
the  people),  his  own  poetry  is  delicately  veined  with 
it  throughout.  I  have  noted  all  the  passages  in  the 
'  Canterbury  Tales '  where  it  distinctly  contributes  to 
the  melody  and  tht  resultant  suggestivencss  of  his 
verse,  and  such  passages  number  326.  In  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  tournament  n  the  Knights  Tale  of  '  Pala- 
mon  and  Arcite,'  he  uses  it  with  a  vigor  of  effect  not 
surpassed  in  Knglish  poetry : 

The  hcraldz  laftcn  here  prikynji  up  and  doun  ; 

Now  ryn^cde  the  tromp  and  clarioun  ; 

Ther  is  nomorc  to  say.  but  est  and  wc>.l 

In  Ron  the  s^)crcs  ful  .sadly  in  arest ; 

In  jfoth  the  schann"  spore  into  the  side. 

Ther  seen  men  who  can  juste  and  who  can  rydc ; 

Ther  schyvcrcn  schaftes  u|K)n  schccldcs  tlukke: 

Mr  fcclcth  thiirf^h  the  herte-s|>on  the  prikkf. 

Up  sprinjjen  s|HTes  twenty  foot  on  hij,;htc  ; 

(Jut  goon  the  .swcrdi-s  .is  ilw  sil\,i-t  tirii;titc 


PRINCIPLES    OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  n 

The  helmes  thei  to-hewen  and  to-schrede  ; 

Out  brest  the  blood,  with  sterne  stremes  reede. 

With  mighty  maces  the  bones  thay  to-breste. 

He  thurgh  the  thikkeste  of  the  throng  gan  threste. 

Ther  stomblen  steedes  stronge,  and  doun  goon  alle. 

He  rolleth  under  foot  as  doth  a  balle. 

He  foyneth  on  his  feet  with  his  tronchoun. 

And  he  him  hurtleth  with  his  hors  adoun. 

—  C.  T.,  2601-18. 

The  alliteration  in  this  passage  is  organic ;  that  is, 
it  is  an  inseparable  part  of  the  expression. 

The  general  character  of  Chaucer's  alliterations  is 
shown  in  the  following  verses  or  bits  of  verses. 
Though  simple  and  unobtrusive,  they  make,  here  and 
there,  a  flitting  contribution  to  the  melody  of  his  verse, 
without,  in  the  least,  obtruding  themselves  upon  the 
consciousness  of  the  reader :  smale  foweles  maken 
mclodye  1:9;^  to  seken  straunge  strondes  1:13; 
And  though  that  he  were  worthy  he  was  wys  And  of 
his  port  as  meeke  as  is  a  mayde  3  :  68,  69 ;  Al  ful  of 
f resshe  flowres  whyte  and  reede  3  :  90 ;  And  frenssh 
she  spak  ful  faire  and  fetisly  4:  124;  A  manly  man 
to  been  an  Abbot  able  5:  167;  whan  he  rood  men 
myghte  his  brydel  heere  Gynglen  in  a  whistlynge 
wynd  als  cleere  And  eek  as  loude  as  dooth  the  Chapel 
belle  5  :  169-171  ;  She  hadde  passed  many  a  straunge 
strem  14:464;  fful  longe  were  his  legges  and  ful 
lene  17 :  591  ;  ffulfild  of  Ire  and  of  Iniquitee  28  1940; 
ther  daweth  hym  no  day  48:  1676;  With  hunte  and 
horn  and  houndcs  hym  bisyde  49  :  1678  ;  Thebes  with 
hisc  olde  walles  wydc  54:  1880;    With  knotty  knarry 

1  The  first  number  indicates  the  page  of  the  Six- Text  Print  of  the 
'Canterbury  Talcs,'  and  the  second  number  the  verse. 


,j  IlXfORC/XC.   FUS/XG,   AND    COMB/XING 

barcync  trees  olde  57:1977;  The  open  werre  with 
woundes  al  biblcdde  58  :  202 ;  Armed  ful  wel  with 
hcrtes  stierne  and  stoutc  62:2154;  Hir  body  wessh 
with  water  of  a  welle  65  :  2283  ;  And  for  to  walken 
in  the  wodes  wilde  66  :  2309  ;  oon  of  the  fyrcs  queynte 
And  quyked  agayn  67  :  2334,  5  ;  Of  faire  yonge 
fresshe  Venus  free  68  :  2386 ;  As  fayn  as  towel  is  of 
the  brighte  sonne  70:2437;  to  the  paleys  rood  ther 
many  a  route  Of  lordes  71  :  2494 ;  His  hardy  herte 
myghte  hym  hclpe  naught  76:2649;  His  brest  to- 
brosten  with  his  sadel  bowe  77:2691;  That  dwelled 
in  his  herte  syk  and  soore  80 :  2804 ;  That  in  that 
selue  groue  swoote  and  grenc  8  ] :  2860-;  The  gretc 
toures  se  we  wane  and  wende  86:3025;  His  rode 
was  reed  hisc  cyen  greye  as  goos  95  :  3317  ;  sat  ay  as 
stille  as  stoon  100:3472;  by  hym  that  harwed  helle 
lOi  :35i2;  so  wilde  and  wood  3517;  I  am  thy  trewe 
verray  wedded  wyf  103:3609;  He  wepeth  wcyleth 
maketh  sory  cheere  He  siketh  with  ful  many  a  sory 
swogh  104:3618,  19;  Wery  and  weet  as  beest  is  in 
the  reyn  118:4107;  And  forth  she  sailleth  in  the 
sake  see  144  :445  ;  !•>  that  the  wilde  wawes  wol  hire 
dryue  144:468;  tellen  |)lat  and  pleyn  158:886;  She 
lightc  doun  and  falleth  hym  to  feete  165:  1104;  His 
fader  was  a  man  ful  free  191:1911;  fful  many  a 
mayde  bright  iji  hour  192  :  1932;  He  priketh  thurgh 
a  fair  forest,  1044;  Hy  dale  and  eek  by  downe  193 
19H6;  And  priketh  oner  stile  and  stoon  194:1988 
Toward  his  weildyng  walkynge  by  the  weyc  257 
3216;  ffortune  was  first  freend  and  sitthe  foo  279 
3913:  In  pacience  ladde  a  ful  symjile  l^f  283:4016 
Which  causelh  folk  to  dreden  in  hir  dremes  286  :  41 19; 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC    UNITIES. 


13 


His  herte  bathed  in  a  bath  of  blisse  370:  1253;  the 
foule  feend  me  fecche  380:  1610;  With  scrippe  and 
tipped  staf  ytukkcd  hye  In  euery  hous  he  gan  to 
poiire  and  prye  386:1737,  38;  as  light  as  leef  on 
lynde  441  :  121 1  ;  To  lede  in  ese  and  hoolynesse  his 
lyf  453:1628;  He  wepeth  and  he  wayleth  pitously 
466 :  2072  ;  Seken  in  euery  halke  and  euery  heme 
511:1121;  That  swich  a  Monstre  or  merueille  myghte 
be  517:1344. 

These  examples  will  suffice  to  show  the  character 
of  Chaucer's  alliterations.  The  greater  part  of  them 
may  have  been  written  unconsciously  by  the  poet ; 
his  sense  of  melody  often  attracting  words  with  the 
same  initial  or  internal  consonants,  as  well  as  asso- 
nantal  words,  —  all  contributing,  more  or  less,  to  the 
general  melody  and  harmony.  Feeling,  according 
to  its  character,  weaves  its  own  vowel  and  consonantal 
texture. 

It  was  Spenser  who  first,  to  any  extent,  exhibited 
organic  alliteration.  Alliteration,  as  employed  in 
Anglo-Saxon  poetry,^  and  in  the  '  Vision  of  William 
concerning  Piers  the  Plowman,'  being,  as  it  is, 
constantly  kept  up,  is  generally  a  mere  mechanical 
device ;  and  where  it  is  organically  employed,  it 
loses,  in  consequence  of  its  constant  use,  its  effect  as 
an  exceptional  consonantal  melody. 

'  Professor  Earle,  in  his  '  Philology  of  the  English  Tongue,'  says, 
in  somewhat  high  style,  '  The  alliteration  of  the  Saxon  poetry  not  only 
gratified  the  ear  with  a  resonance  like  that  of  modern  rhyme,  but  it 
also  had  the  rhetorical  advantage  of  touching  the  emphatic  words; 
falling  as  it  did  on  the  natural  summits  of  the  construction,  and  tingeing 
them  with  the  brilliance  of  a  musical  reverberation.' 


1 4  h.\JORC/XG,   J- USING.   AXD    COMB/X/XG 

There  is  not  much  of  it  in  the  poor  poetry  of  the 
interval  of  nearly  two  hundred  years  between  the 
death  of  Chaucer  and  the  appearance  of  the  *  Faerie 
Queene ' ;  and,  probably,  if  the  'Faerie  Qucene ' 
had  not  been  written,  alliteration  would  have  been  a 
much  less  notable  feature  of  English  Poetry.  Only 
a  poet  with  the  rare  metrical  sensibility  of  Sjienser 
could  have  taught  subsequent  poets  its  subtler  capa- 
bilities. Readers  of  modern  poetry  are,  perhaps,  not 
generally  aware  of  what  a  great,  though  secret, 
power,  alliteration  is,  in  all  the  best  poets  from  Spen- 
ser to  Tennyson.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  its 
effect  is  not  felt ;  for  if  it  were  not,  what  would  be 
the  good  of  it }  but  the  source  of  the  effect  is  not 
generally  obser\ed. 

Shakespeare  employs  alliteration,  as  he  does  every 
other  element  of  expre.s.sivenes.s,  that  is,  just  where 
he  should  employ  it,  and  nowhere  else.  It  some- 
times gives  the  toning  to  an  entire  passage ;  while  at 
the  same  time  it  does  not  obtrude  itself  upon  the 
consciousness;  as,  for  e.\amj)lc.  in  the  speech  of 
Oberon  to  Puck,  in  '  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,' 
2.  \.  148-164  : 

My  gentle  Puck,  come  hither.     Thou  remcmhercst 

Since  once  I  «>at  upon  a  |)roui()ntory. 

And  heard  a  uit-rmaid  on  a  dolphin's  back 

Utterin>{  such  (julcet  and  harmonious  breath 

That  the  ru^Je  >ea  grew  civil  at  her>onj{ 

And  pertain  hilars  shot  ojaUIy  from  their  spheres. 

To  hear  the  sea-maid"s  nuisic. 

I'uck.  1  rcmcmljcr. 

Obe.     That  very  lime  I  .saw.  but  thou  couldst  not. 
Flying  between  the  cold  moon  and  the  earth. 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC   UNITIES.  15 

Cupid  all  armed  :  a  certain  aim  he  took 
At  a  fair  vestal  throned  by  the  west, 
And  loosed  his  love-shaft  smartly  from  his  bow, 
As  it  should  pierce  a  hundred  thousand  hearts : 
But  I  might  see  young  Cupid's  fiery  shaft 
Quenched  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  watery  moon, 
And  the  imperial  votaress  passed  on 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy-free.^ 

But  to  determine  its  full  importance  as  an  element 
of  melody,  there  should  be  a  careful  noting  of  all  its 
more  incidental  effects  throughout  his  plays,  such  as 
these,  for  example : 

As  if  an  angel  rtVopped  dos^n  from  the  clouds, 

To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 

And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship. 

—  I  Henry  II'.  4.  i.  108-110. 

//arry  to  Harry  shall,  /lot  /^orse  to  //or.se, 
Meet,  and  ne'er  part,  till  one  ^i'rop  down  a  corse. 

—  4.  I.  122, 123. 

And  deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound 
I'll  </rown  my  book. 

—  Tetiipest  5.  I.  56,  57. 

That  zips  with  silver  all  these  frui/-/ree-/'ops. 

—  Romeo  and  Juliet,  2.  2.  108. 

S/ands  /ip-/oe  on  the  wisty  woun/ain  /ops. 

—  3. 5. 10. 

//anting  thee  /zence  with  /^unts-up  to  the  day. 

—  3-  5-  34- 

1  The  mechanical  use  of  alliteration  as  distinguished  from  its  organic 
use  is  humorously  and  satirically  exhibited  in  various  passages  in  his  plays. 
See  L.  L.  L.  4.  2.  58-64;  M.  N.  D.  i.  2.  33-40;  L.  L.  L.  3.  i.  181-185; 
Tarn,  of  S.  3.  2.  53  et  seq.,  '  sped  with  spavins  '  etc.  K.  &  J.,  2.  4.  41 
e(  seq.,  'Laura  to  his  lady'  etc.  Oth.  i.  i.  112  et  seq.,  'you'll  have 
your  nephews  neigh  to  you'  etc.  Oth.  2.  3.  79.  (cited  in  'The 
Shakespeare  Key,'  by  Charles  and  Mary  Cowden  Clarke,  jip.  23,  24). 


,6  ENFORCrXC,    IVSfXG,   .LVD    COMRIXIXG 

The  translators  of  the  Kin<;  James's  Bible  some- 
times make  an  effective  use  of  it :  c.i;.,  Ps.  civ.  3,  4 : 
•Who  layeth  the  beams  of  his  chambers  in  the 
waters:  who  maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot:  who 
walketh  u|)on  the  wings  of  the  wind  :  who  maketh 
his  angels  spirits;  his  ministers  a  flaming  fire.' 

There  is  an  interwoven  alliteratioa  of  /,  b,  and  d, 
in  the  following,  from  the  Song  of  Deborah  and 
Barak,  Judges  v.  2T. 

'At  her/eet  he  /^owed,  he/cll,  he  lay  r/own  :  at  her 
/eet  he  /'owed,  he /ell :  where  he  <^owed,  there  he /ell 
//own  //ead.' 

Tennyson  emjjloys  alliteration  with  that  rare  artistic 
skill  so  characteristic  of  him.  It  is  generally  so 
worked  up  with  other  elements  of  his  melody  that  it 
is  not  noticed  or  felt  as  a  distinct  element.  Hut  he 
sometimes,  for  some  special  enforcement,  brings  it 
prominently  forward  in  his  verse.  This  is  especially 
so  in  'The  Princess'  and  in  '  Maud.' 

Some  of  the  Songs  in  '  The  Princess,'  which  come 
in  after  the  several  sections  of  the  poem,  owe  their 
toning  largely  to  alliteration  and  assonance,  and  to 
the  repetition  of  the  same  words.  'The  Cradle 
Song,'  '  Sweet  and  low,  sweet  and  low.'  after  the 
second  section,  and  the  '  Bugle  Song,'  '  The  splen- 
dor falls  on  r.Tstli'  walls,'  after  the  third  section,  are 
examples. 

Some  of  the  poet's  most  effective  alliterations  occur 
in  '  Maud  '  : 

The-  fcd-r/l)l)C(l  ledges  drip  with  a  silent  horror  of  blood. 


PRINCIPLES  OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  ly 

And  ever  he  w/uttered  and  waddened,  and  ever  jt-anned  li-ith 

despair, 
And  out  he  7<7alked  when  the  wind  like  a  broken  worldling  Ti-ailed 
And  the  flying  gold  of  the  mined  wood-lands  drove  thro"  the  air. 

And  my  pulses  closed  their  gates  with  a  sliook  on  my  heart  as 

I  heard 
The  j/inll-edged  shr'x&V  of  a  mother  divide  the  .jVaiddering  night. 

And  lust  of  gain  in  the  spirit  of  Cain,  is  it  better  or  worse 
Than  the  //eart  of  the  citizen  /«ssing  in  war  on  //is  own  //earth- 
stone? 

il/ay  wake  my  heart  as  a  willstone,  set  my /ace  as  ay?int, 
C//eat  and  be  «://eated,  and  die  :  who  knows  ?  we  are  ashes  and 
dust. 

When  the  poor  are  //ovelled  and  //ustled  together,  each  jrex,  like 

jwine. 
When  only  the  /edger  /ives,  and  when  only  not  all  men  /ie. 

To/estle  a /oisoned /Poison  behind  his  crimson  lights. 

And  rave  at  the  /ie  and  the  /iar,  ah  God,  as  he  used  to  rave. 

W-^ere  it  not  wise  if  1  y7ed  /roni  the  //ace  and  the  /it  and  the 
/ear  ? 

Cold  and  tlear-oit  face,  why  come  you  so  cmelly  meek  ? 

/■-falked  in  a  wintry  wind  by  a. ghastly  ^immer  and  found 
The  shining  <^/affor/il  <^/ead,  and  Orion  low  in  his  grave. 

The  jilent  japphire-jpangled  marriage  ring  of  the  land  ? 
But  .forrow  jeize  me  if  ever  that  /ight  be  my  /eading  star  ! 

Your  wother  is  wute  in  her  grave  as  her  iwage  in  warble  above : 
Your  father  is  ever  in  London,  you  wander  about  at  your  will : 
You  have  but  fed  on  the  roses,  and  /ain  in  the  /ilies  of /ife. 


,8  F.XFOKC/XC,    rrsrA'G,   AXD    COMHIXiyG 

The  following  from  the  '  Morte  d' Arthur'  are  effec- 
tive : 

and  over  them  the  j'ea-wind  jang 

Slirill.  cliill.  with /"lakes  of/oam. 

1  heard  tlie  npjjle  wasliing  in  the  reeds. 
And  the  wild  xi^ter  hipping  on  the  crag. 

So /lashed  and /ell  the  brand  Excalibur. 

The  ^are  /'lack  r/iff  f/anged  round  him. 

But  the  use  of  vowels  as  a  means  of  producing  that 
musical  accompaniment  to  thought,  through  which  a 
poet  voices  his  feelings  and  sympathies,  and  makes 
spiritual  suggestions,  demands  a  far  subtler  sense  of 
spiritual  affinities.  This* subtler  sense  was  possessed, 
in  an  eminent  degree,  by  Samuel  Tayl(M-  Coleridge ; 
and  he  has  most  strikingly  revealed  it  in  the  First 
Part  of  his  '  Christabel,'  and  in  his  '  Kubla  Khan.' 
In  the  former  poem,  he  has  signally  illustrated  the 
truth  of  a  marginal  note  which  he  wrote  in  a  copy  of 
Selden's  'Table  Talk,'  on  this  sentence:  'Verses 
prove  nothing  but  the  quantity  of  syllables ;  they  are 
not  meant  for  logic'  'True,'  writes  Coleridge,  'they, 
that  is,  verses,  are  not  logic,  but  they  are,  or  ought  to 
be,  the  ttivoys  and  rcprcsintativis  of  that  vital  passion 
which  is  the  practical  cement  of  logic,  and,  without 
which,  logic  must  remain  inert.'    A  profound  remark. 

The  following  are  notable  examples : 

The  lady  sprang  up  suddenly. 

The  lovely  lady.  Christalxrl ! 

It  moaned  a.H  near,  a.s  near  c<3n  l>e. 

But  \\\v\\  it  is  she  cannot  tell.  — 

On  the  other  side  it  seems  to  l)e. 

Of  the  huge,  broad -brca-sted.  old  o.ik-trec. 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  19 

The  form  of  this  stanza  is  quite  perfect.  Note  the 
suggestiveness  of  the  abrupt  vowels  in  the  first  verse, 
the  abatement  required  for  the  proper  elocution,  in 
the  second  verse,  the  prolongable  vowels  and  sub- 
vowels  of  the  third,  and  then  the  short  vowels  again 
in  the  fourth.  Then  note  how  the  vowels  in  the  last 
verse  swell  responsive  to  the  poet's  conception ;  and 
how  encased  they  are  in  a  strong  framework  of  con- 
sonants. 

The  night  is  chill ;  the  forest  bare  ; 

Is  it  the  wind  that  moaneth  bleak  ? 

There  is  not  wind  enough  in  the  air 

To  move  away  the  ringlet  curl 

From  the  lovely  lady's  cheek  — 

There  is  not  wind  enough  to  twirl 

The  one  red  leaf,  the  last  of  its  clan, 

That  dances  as  often  as  dance  it  can, 

Hanging  so  light,  and  hanging  so  high, 

On  the  topmost  twig  that  looks  up  at  the  sky. 

Note  the  effect  imparted  by  the  running  on  of  the 
three  verses  in  reply  to  the  question,  '  Is  it  the  wind 
that  moaneth  bleak  ? '  And  then  the  effect  of  the 
monosyllabic  words  in  the  verses  that  follow,  their 
staccato  effect  being  heightened  by  the  dissyllabic 
words  that  add  to  the  number  of  light  syllables. 

In  every  verse  of  '  Christabel,'  the  number  of  accents, 
and,  consequently,  the  number  of  feet,  are  regularly 
four ;  but  the  number  of  syllables  varies  from  seven 
to  twelve,  the  xa  rhythm  being  changed  sometimes  to 
the  axx  or  xxa.  ^  But  the  variation  in  the  number  of 
syllables  is  not  made  arbitrarily  or  for  the  mere  ends 
of   convenience,    but   in    correspondence    with    some 


20  ENFORCrXG,    FUS/A'G,   AXD    CO.MBLXING 

transition  in  the  nature  of  the  imagery  or  passion. 
The  two  following  xxa  verses,  descriptive  of  the 
castle-gate,  are  admirably  suggestive  of  the  massive- 
ness  and  strength  of  the  gate,  and  of  the  image 
of  the  bold  knights  on  their  spirited  steeds,  issuing 
through  it : 

The  gate  that  was  ironed  within  and  without. 
Where  an  army  in  l>attle  array  had  marched  out. 

The  vowel  melody  of  the  following  verses  is  most 
suggestive : 

Outside  her  kennel,  the  mastitToId 
Lay  fast  asleep,  in  moonshine  cold. 
The  mastiff  old  did  not  awake. 
Yet  she  an  angry  moan  did  make  I 
And  what  can  ail  the  mastiff  jjitch? 
Never  till  now  she  uttered  yell 
Heneath  the  eye  of  Christabel. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  owlet's  .scritch  : 
For  what  can  ail  the  mastiff  Ijitch? 

•Sweet  Christal)c-I  her  feet  doth  hare. 
And,  jealous  of  the  listening  air. 
They  steal  their  way  from  stair  to  stair. 
Now  in  glimmer,  and  now  in  gloom  ; 
And  now  they  jkxss  the  IJaron's  room. 
As  still  as  death  with  stifled  hreath! 
And  now  have  reathcd  her  chamher  door; 
And  now  doth  ('ict^ldinc  press  d«)wn 
The  rushes  of  the  chamber  floor. 
The  moon  shines  dim  in  the  o|)cn  air, 
And  not  a  moonbeam  enters  here. 

Hut  they  without  Its  light  can  see 
The  chamber  carved  so  curiously. 
Car\-ed  with  figures  strange  and  sweet. 
All  made  nut  of  the  carver's  brain. 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC   UNITIES.  21 

For  a  lady's  chamber  meet : 

The  lamp  with  twofold  silver  chain 

Is  fastened  to  an  angel's  feet, 

The  silver  lamp  burns  dead  and  dim  ; 

But  Christabel  the  lamp  will  trim. 

She  trimmed  the  lamp,  and  made  it  bright, 

And  left  it  swinging  to  and  fro, 

While  Gerakline  in  wretched  plight 

Sank  down  upon  the  floor  below. 

So  much,  for  the  present,  in  regard  to  the  first  two 
unities  I  have  named,  foot  and  verse,  into  which  feel- 
ing moulds  language ;  and  the  enforcing  and  fusing 
or  combining  agencies  of  these,  namely,  accent  and 
melody. 

c.    Harmony  and  Rhyme. 

The  fusing  and  combining  agencies  of  the  stanza,^ 
the  third  unity  I  have  named,  are,  i.  Harmony; 
2.  Rhyme. 

We  often  meet  with  stanzas,  the  individual  verses 
of  which  are  sufficiently  melodious,  but  all  the  verses 
when  taken  together,  of  which  the  stanzas  are  com- 
posed, are  deficient  in  harmony,  and  consequently 
there  is  little  or  no  fusion.     The  esemplastic  power 

1  Stanza  is  exclusively  applied  to  uniform  groups  of  rhymed  verses; 
but  it  can  be  with  eciual  propriety  applied  to  the  varied  groups  of  blank 
verses,  as  will  be  shown  in  the  section  on  blank  verse.  For  the  proper 
appreciation  of  the  individual  verses  in  Milton's  blank  verse,  they  must 
be  read  in  groups — a  group  sometimes  beginning  within  a  verse  and 
ending  within  a  verse.  These  groups  are  due  to  the  unifying  action  of 
feeUng,  just  as  much  as  regular  rhymed  stanzas  are;  and,  indeed, often 
more  so.  "  The  Italian  called  it  stanza,  as  if  we  should  say  a  resting- 
place." —  VviTVV.iin\M,  Art  of  English  Poesie,Q(\.  1589,  b.  ii.  c.  2.  .  .  . 
"  So  named  from  the  stop  or  halt  at  the  end  of  it.  .  .  .  Cognate  with 
English  '  stand.' "  — Skeat's  Etymological  Dictionary. 


•>•> 


KNFOA'CIXG,    Fi'SING,   AND    COAfB/AING 


of  the  writer's  teeling  was  not  strong  enough,  did  not 
extend  beyond  the  individual  verse.  In  such  case, 
a  stanza  is  but  an  arbitrary  group  or  succession  of 
verses,  and  not  a  vital  unity. 

The  second  combining  agency  of  the  stanza  I  have 
named,  is  Rhyme. 

(Rhyme  is  the  likeness,  with  a  difference,  —  unity 
in  variety,  —  of  final  words  of  two  or  more  verses.  If 
they  are  monosyllabic  words,  their  vowels  and  the  con- 
sonants which  follow  them  are  alike  (as  pronounced, 
of  course,  not  necessarily  as  spelled),  while  the 
consonants  which  precede  them  are  unlike,  the  like- 
ness and  the  imlikeness  constituting  a  harmony  :  hills, 
rills ;  hall,  wall ;  then,  again  ;  mead,  reed ;  thought, 
caught ;  banks,  ranks  ;  chance,  trance  ;  peers,  years  ; 
change,  grange ;  where  two  consonants  jirecede,  one 
may  be  common  to  both  words,  as  breeze,  freeze ; 
phrase,  praise ;  play,  flay.  The  common  letter  is 
generally  /  or  r.  If  the  rhyming  words  are  dissyl- 
labic or  trisyllabic,  the  vowels  of  their  accented  syl- 
lables, and  the  consonants  or  syllables  which  follow 
them,  are  in  unison,  while  the  consonants  or  syllables 
which  precede  them,  are  not :  ojiinion,  dominion  ; 
docile,  fossil ;  rehearsal,  universal ;  allotted,  besotted  ; 
studied,  bloodied. 

Wf)rds  pronounced  alike,  though  they  differ  in 
spelling  anil  signification,  cannot  be  saiti  to  rhyme. 
They  arc  simply  identical.  There  is  no  variation  to 
make  a  harmony.  Such  words  as  the  following,  for 
example  :  air,  heir ;  berry,  bury  ;  cent,  scent,  sent ; 
cite,  sight,  site;  climb,  clime;  cygnet,  signet;  eye.  I  ; 
fain,  feign  ;  and  numerous  others.) 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC   UNITIES. 


23 


Rhyme  is  an  agency  which  can  be  more  easily 
employed  than  harmony,  and  it  may  be  employed  by 
a  poet  to  cover  a  multitude  of  sins  of  melody  and 
harmony.  In  writing  blank  verse,  the  poet  has  to 
depend  upon  the  melodious  movement  of  the  individ- 
ual verses,  pause-melody,  and  the  general  harmony  or 
toning.  /  It  is  only  when  a  poet's  feeling  is  all- 
embracing,  is  sufficiently  sustained,  that  he  can  suc- 
ceed in  writing  blank  verse,  with  the  fullest  success. 

Rhyme,  while  it  is  an  important  combining  agency 
of  the  stanza,  is  also  an  enforcing  agency  of  the  indi- 
vidual verse.  Hence,  the  second  verse  of  a  rhyming 
couplet  must  be  slightly  stronger  than  the  first,  in 
order  to  support  the  enforcement  imparted  by  the 
rhyme.  In  humorous  poetry,  a  ludicrous  effect  is 
often  secured  by  the  poet's  advisedly  making  the 
verse  on  which  rhyme  falls,  too  weak  to  support  it. 
Butler  frequently  does  this  in  his  '  Hudibras.'  The 
rhyme  emphasis  of  a  verse  is,  of  course,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  nearness  of  the  verse  to  that  with  which 
it  rhymes.  If  it  is  far  separated  from  it,  the  empha- 
sis will  be  more  or  less  neutralized.  In  CoUins's  '  Ode 
on  the  Passions,'  there  are  adjacent,  alternate,  and 
remote  rhymes.  Any  one  reading  this  Ode  must 
feel  the  different  degrees  of  the  rhyme-emphasis, 
resulting  from  the  different  degrees  of  nearness  or 
remoteness  of  the  rhyming  verses.  In  the  first  six- 
teen verses,  the  rhyming  verses  are  adjacent,  and 
one  rhyme  is  a  double  rhyme  (fainting,  j^ainting) : 

When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young. 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung. 


24  ENFORCING,   FUS/NG,   AND    COM n LYING 

The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell. 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell, 
Kxulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting, 
I'ossest  beyond  the  Muse's  painting; 
IJy  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined; 
Till  once,  "tis  said,  when  all  were  fired. 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired. 
From  tiie  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound  ; 
And,  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art. 
Each,  for  madness  ruled  the  hour. 
Would  ])rove  his  own  expressive  power. 

Then  follow  three  quatrains,  —  the  rhymes  being 
alternate,  —  and  in  jiassing  to  them  the  reduction  of 
the  rhyme-emj)hasis  is  felt  at  once : 

First  Fear,  his  hand,  its  .skill  to  try, 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid. 
And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why, 

F'en  at  the  .sound  himself  had  made. 

Next  Anger  nished  ;  his  eyes  on  fire 
In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings; 

In  one  rude  clasii  he  struck  tiie  lyre. 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

With  woful  mea,sures,  wan  Despair, 
Low  .sullen  sounds,  his  grief  beguiled, 

A  solemn,  strange,  and  mingled  air; 
Twas  .sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild. 

The  ne.xt  ten  ver.scs,  twenty-ninth  to  thirty-eighth 
inchisive,  descriptive  of  Hope,  are  particularly  inter- 
esting, as  illustrating  rhyme-emi)hasis.  The  fir.st  and 
the  tenth  verses  rhyme  together,  but  they  are  so  remote 


PRINCIPLES  OF  POETIC    UNITIES. 


25 


that  the  rhyme-emphasis  on  the  tenth  verse  is  quite 
neutralized.  There  are  very  few  readers  that  would 
spontaneously  retain  the  final  sound  of  the  first  verse 
when  they  arrived  at  the  final  sound  of  the  tenth. 
The  second  and  third  verses  rhyme,  and  the  rhyme  is 
a  double  rhyme  (measure,  pleasure),  and  the  emphasis 
is  consequently  strong.  Then  there  are  four  verses 
rhyming  alternately,  the  rhyme-emphasis  being,  in 
consequence,  a  little  lighter;  then  the  next  two  verses 
rhyme  together,  and  the  rhyme-emphasis  is  a  little 
stronger  again.    The  rhyme-scheme  being  abbcdcdcca. 

But  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  dehghtful  measure  ? 

Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure. 

And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail  ! 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong, 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 

She  called  on  Echo  still  thro"  all  the  song ; 

And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 

A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close, 

And  Hope  enchanted  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair. 

The  entire  Ode  affords  an  admirable  study  of  this 
feature  of  Prosody,  and  also  of  the  emphasis  secured 
by  the  varied  length  of  verses,  about  which  I  shall 
speak  further  on. 

When  a  rhyme  is  repeated  a  number  of  times,  the 
emphasis  gathers  up  to  a  certain  point.  Beyond  that, 
it  would  pester  the  ear,  and  lose  its  effect ;  in  other 
words,  it  would  be  neutralized  more  or  less  by  a 
monotonous  iteration. 

If  the  rhyme  is  double,  the  emphasis  is,  of  course, 
still  more  marked.     Mrs.    Browning  is  fond  of  the 


26  EXFORC/NG,    fCS/XC,    AXD    COM/i/X/XG 

double  rhyme,  and  employs  it  with  great  effect  in 
some  of  her  shorter  poems ;  in  '  Cowper's  Grave,' 
for  example : 

It  is  a  place  where  poets  crowned  may  feel  the  heart's  decaying, 
It  is  a  place  where  happy  saints  may  weep  amid  their  praying: 
Yet  let  the  grief  and  humbleness,  as  low  as  silence  languish  ! 
Earth  surely  now  may  give  her  calm  to  whom  she  gave  her 
anguish. 

O  poets !  from  a  maniac's  tongue  wjis  poured   the   deathless 

singing  I 
O   Christians  I   at  your  cross  of  hope,  a  hopeless  hand   was 

clinging  ! 
O  men  I  this  man  in  brotherhood  your  weary  path  l^eguiling. 
Groaned    inly  while  he  taught  you  peace,  and  died  while  ye 

were  smiling. 

Robert  Hrowning  is  a  great  master  of  rhyme  ;  and 
his  poetry  aboimds  in  every  variety  of  rhyme-effect. 
His  poem  '  Of  Pacchiarotto,  and  how  he  worked  in 
Distemper,'  and  his  'Flight  of  the  Duchess'  afford 
remarkable  and  surprising  examples  of  double  and 
triple  rhymes. 

The  I-lnglish  ear  is  not  so  accustomed  to  the  double 
rhyme  as  is  the  Italian  ear,  and  the  poet  who  employs 
it  in  serious  verse,  must  employ  it  with  the  best  artistic 
taste  and  judgment.  Its  emphasis  is  too  jjronounccd. 
It  is  employed  with  the  best  effect,  as  an  exceptional 
rhyme,  and  for  some  sjiecial  emj)hasis.  Hyron  so 
employs  it  in  his  '  Don  Jium,'  as  he  does  also  the 
triple  rhyme,  which  is  .still  more  emphatic. 

In  all  the  more  reckless  stanzas  of  '  Don  Juan,' 
that  is,  when  the  j)oet  plays  with  the  feelings,  often  to 
the  extent  of  tloing  an  irreverent  violence  to  them,  the 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC   UNITIES.  27 

double  rhyme  comes  out ;  when  the  tone  softens,  and 
becomes  more  serious,  it  is  not  employed  to  the  same 
extent ;  it  is  sometimes  not  employed  at  all,  often  for 
a  number  of  stanzas.  In  fact,  the  double  and  triple 
rhymes,  throughout  the  poem,  indicate  a  reduction  of 
true  poetic  seriousness.  Take,  for  example,  a  stanza 
like  the  following,  descriptive  of  life,  in  '  Don  Juan,' 
Canto  XV.  St.  99 ;  its  tone  does  not  admit  the  double 
rhyme : 

Between  two  worlds  life  hovers  like  a  star, 

"Twi.xt  night  and  morn,  upon  the  horizon's  verge. 

How  little  do  we  know  that  which  we  are  ! 

How  less  what  we  may  be  !     The  eternal  surge 

Of  time  and  tide  rolls  on,  and  bears  afar 
Our  bubbles  ;  as  the  old  burst,  new  emerge, 

Lashed  from  the  foam  of  ages  ;  while  the  graves 

Of  empires  heave  but  like  some  passing  waves. 

Or  take  the  three  following  stanzas  descriptive  of 
things  sweet.  Canto  i.  St.  123-125.  There's  a  tender- 
ness of  sentiment  in  the  first  which  excludes  entirely 
the  double  rhyme,  as  Byron  uses  it : 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  watch-dog's  honest  bark 
Bay  deep-mouthed  welcome  as  we  draw  near  home ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  know  there  is  an  eye  will  mark 
Our  coming,  and  look  brighter  when  we  come  ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  be  awakened  by  the  lark, 
Or  lulled  by  falling  waters  ;  sweet  the  hum 
Of  bees,  the  voice  of  girls,  the  song  of  birds. 
The  lisp  of  children,  and  their  earlie.st  words. 

But  in  the  next  stanza,  the  general  tone  is  less 
serious,  and  it  is  especially  marked  by  the  double 
rhyme  which  crops  out  at  the  end: 


28  EXFORC/A'G,   Fi'SIXG,   AXD    CO.Ufi/X/XG 

Sweet  is  the  vintage,  when  the  showering  grapes 

In  Bacchanal  profusion  reel  to  earth, 
Purple  and  gushing  :  sweet  are  our  escapes 

From  civic  revelry  to  rural  mirth  ; 
Sweet  to  the  miser  are  his  glittering  heaps, 

Sweet  to  the  father  is  his  first-born's  birth. 
Sweet  is  revenge  —  especially  to  women. 

Pillage  to  soldiers.  i)ri/e-money  to  seamen. 

In  the  next  stanza,  he  carries  the  unseriousness  still 
further,  and  it  is  still  more  marked  by  the  double 
rhyme,  the  last  one  embracinj^^  two  j)airs  of  words : 

Sweet  is  a  legacy,  and  passing  sweet 

The  unexpected  ileath  of  some  old  lady 
Or  gentleman  of  seventy  years  complete, 

Who've  made  '  us  youth  '  wait  too  —  too  long  already 
For  an  estate,  or  cash,  or  country-seat. 

Still  breaking,  but  with  stamina  so  steady 
That  all  the  Israelites  are  fit  to  mob  its 
Next  owner  for  their  double-damn'd  post-obits. 

In  the  descrij)ti<)n  ol  Don  Juans  mother,  in  the 
First  Canto,  this  unseriousness  is  carried  to  an  ex- 
treme of  recklessness,  which  is  exhibited  in  frecjuent 
triple  rhymes.  The  description  extends  over  twenty 
stanzas  or  more.     Take  for  exnmnlo  thi*  following: 

Her  favorite  science  was  the  mathematical. 

Her  noblest  virtue  w.is  her  magnanimity; 
Her  wit  (she  sometimes  trird  at  wit)  was  Attic  all. 

Her  serious  sayings  darkened  to  sul)limit\  ; 
In  short,  in  all  things  she  w.xs  fairly  what  I  call 

A  protligy  —  her  morning  dress  w.xs  dimity. 
Her  evening,  silk,  or.  in  the  smiimer,  muslin, 

\iii!  i.ihcr  stuffs,  with  which  I  u..ii*i  ^t  u  pu7/ling.  ' 


PRINCIPLES   OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  29 

Oh !  she  was  perfect  past  all  parallel  — 

Of  any  modern  female  saint's  comparison ; 
So  far  above  the  cunning  powers  of  hell, 

Her  guardian  angel  had  given  up  his  garrison ; 
Even  her  minutest  motions  went  as  well 

As  those  of  the  best  time-piece  made  by  Harrison : 
In  virtues  nothing  earthly  could  surpass  her, 

Save  thine  'incomparable  oil,'  Macassar! 

'Tis  pity  learned  virgins  ever  wed 

With  persons  of  no  sort  of  education. 
Or  gentlemen,  who,  though  well  born  and  bred, 

Grow  tired  of  scientific  conversation  ; 
I  don't  choose  to  say  much  upon  this  head, 

Tm  a  plain  man,  and  in  a  single  station. 
But  —  oh !  ye  lords  of  ladies  intellectual. 

Inform  us  truly,  have  they  not  \\&\\-pccked you  all? 

It  will  be  found  interesting,  in  reading  '  Don  Juan,' 
to  note  the  part  played  by  the  double  and  triple  rhymes, 
in  indicating  the  lowering  of  the  poetic  key  —  the 
reduction  of  true  poetic  seriousness.  What  might  be 
called  the  moral  phases  of  the  verse  of  '  Don  Juan,' 
are,  throughout  the  entire  poem,  extremely  interesting. 

Some  of  Byron's  most  powerful  writing  is  found  in 
'Don  Juan';  some  of  his  tenderest;  and  the  possible 
flexibility  of  the  English  language  is  often  fully  real- 
ized. But  when  he  wrote  this  poem,  his  better  nature 
was  more  or  less  eclipsed ;  but  wherever  it  asserts 
itself,  we  feel  its  presence  in  the  moulding  of  the 
verse,  as  much  as  we  do  in  the  sentiments  expressed. 

From  what  has  been  said  of  the  double  and  the 
triple  rhyme,  as  employed  by  Byron,  in  hfs  '  Don 
Juan,'  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  these  are  \.\\c  pecul- 
iar functions  of  these  rhymes.     They  may  serve  to 


^O  EXFORC/XC,    FUSIXG,    AXD  COMBIXIXG 

emphasize  the  serious  as  well  as  the  jocose.  The 
stanzas  quoted  from  Mrs.  Hrowning's  '  Cowper's 
Grave'  show  this.  The  form  in  which  Hood's  '  Bridge 
of  Sighs '  is  cast,  is  worthy  of  notice,  in  this  connec- 
tion. The  verse  is  axx;  and  to  add  to  the  liveliness  of 
the  expression,  the  rhymes  are,  in  most  cases,  triple 
rhymes,  as,  'unfortunate,'  'imi)ortunate  ' ;  'tenderly,* 
•slenderly';  'scornfully,'  'mournfully';  'brink  of  it,' 
'think  of  it,'  'drink  of  it,'  etc.  Such  a  form  might 
seem  at  first  view  to  be  very  ill  chosen.  Hut  every 
reader  of  sensibility  must  feel  that  the  rhythm  and 
the  rhyme,  in  this  case,  serve  as  a  most  effective  foil 
to  the  melancholy  theme.  It  is  not  unlike  the  laugh- 
ter of  frenzied  grief. 

Shakespeare  understood  the  enforcement  secured 
through  rhyme  as  fully  as  he  did  every  other  element 
of  impassioned  expression.  He  knew  the  effect  of 
iterated  rhyme,  and  knew,  too,  just  how  far  it  could 
be  carried  without  self-neutralization. 

In  Titania's  address  to  the  F"airies  in  'A  Midsum- 
mer-Night's Dream,'  ^  i.  167-177,  the  same  rhyme 
is  re})eated  a  number  of  times  in  successive  verses, 
with  a  gathering  emphasis  which  accords  well  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  speaker  : 

Be  kind  and  courteou.s  to  thi.s  gentleman  ; 
H<ip  in  his  walks  and  gambol  in  liis  eyes; 
Feed  him  with  apricocks  and  dewberries. 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs  and  mulberries ; 
The  honey-l)ags  steal  from  the  humble-bees. 
And  for  night-tapers  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed  ami  to  arise  ; 


PRINCIPLES  OF  POETIC    UNITIES.  31 

And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies 
To  fan  the  moonbeams  from  his  sleeping  eyes :  ' 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies.    -^ 

A  rhyme  could  hardly,  under  any  circumstances, 
be  repeated  in  successive  verses  beyond  the  extent  to 
which  it  is  repeated  here,  without  losing  its  effect  in 
the  resultant  monotony. 


TIT. 


EFFECTS    FRODICEI)    BY    EXCEPTIONAL   AND 
VARIED   METRES. 

RELATIVE  effects  are  produced  by  variations  of 
metre  on  the  theme-metre. 

These  effects  will  be  seen  in  some  of  the  stanzas 
presented  and  analyzed  further  on,  especially  that  of 
Milton's  ode  'On  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Nativity.' 

Southey's  long  poem,  '  The  Curse  of  Kehama,' 
affords  an  abundance  of  material  for  the  fullest  study 
of  this  feature  of  verse-building. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  composition  in  the  language 
which  affords  so  much  material  within  the  same  com- 
pass, as  Wordsworth's  Ode  on  the  '  Intimations  of 
Immortality  from  Recollections  of  Early  Childhood.' 

The  several  metres  are  felt,  in  the  course  of  the 
reading  of  the  Ode,  to  be  organic  —  inseparable 
from  what  each  is  employed  to  express.  The 
rhymes,  too,  with  their  varying  degrees  of  emphasis, 
according  to  the  nearness  or  remoteness,  and  the 
length,  of  the  rhyming  verses,  are  equally  a  part  of 
the  expression.  Double  rhymes  occur  with  a  notable 
appropriateness.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  few 
exceptional  feet  which  occur. 

Of  the  203  verses  of  which  the  Ode  consists,  100 
arc  5  xa.  This  is  the  theme-metre  of  the  Ode,  from 
32 


EXCEPTIONAL   AND    VARIED  METRES. 


33 


which  the  relative  effects  of  the  other  metres  are 
partly  derived.  (The  feelings  of  the  reader  of 
English  poetry  get  to  be  set,  so  to  speak,  to  the 
pentameter  measure,  as  in  that  measure  the  largest 
portion  of  English  poetry  is  written  ;  and  accord- 
ingly other  measures  derive  some  effect  from  that 
fact.) 

In  the  theme-metre,  generally,  the  more  reflective 
portions  of  the  Ode,  its  deeper  tones,  are  expressed. 
The  gladder  notes  come  in  the  shorter  metres. 

Of  the  other  metres,  there  are  thirty-nine  /^xa,  forty- 
four  Z^ci,  ten  2xa,  six  6xa,  one  J  xa,  one  2xxa  +  x, 
one  xxa,  xa,  xxa,  xa,  and  one  3  xa,  ax,  xa,  the  three 
last  being 

And  the  children  are  culling, 

And  the  babe  leaps  up  on  the  mother's  arm  :  — 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  they. 

Note  the  effect  of  the  ax  foot  (lightly)  in  the  last 
verse. 

The  third  section  of  the  Ode  is  especially  to  be 
noted  for  the  effects  which  it  exhibits  of  varied  metre  : 

Now,  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song, 

And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 

As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 
To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief: 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief. 

And  I  again  am  strong  : 
The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep ; 
No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong ; 
I  hear  the  echoes  through  the  mountains  throng, 
The  winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  Sleep, 

And  all  the  eartli  is  gay ; 


34 


EXCEPTIONAL   AND    VARIED  METRES. 


Land  and  sea 
Give  themselves  up  to  jollity. 
And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  bea.st  keep  holiday  ;  — 
Thou  child  of  Joy, 
Shout  round  nie,  let  me  hear  thy  shouts,  thou  happy  shepherd 
boy  ! 

After  a  play  of  varied  metres,  the  theme-metre  is 
maintained,  as  it  should  be,  in  the  closing  section, 
there  being  but  two  departures  from  it,  one  2xa  and 
one  6.tv7,  each  of  which  has  a  special  function  and  is 
felt  to  be  organic  : 

And  O.  ye  Fountains,  Meadows.  Hills,  and  Groves, 

Korebode  not  any  severing  of  our  loves! 

Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  1  feel  your  might ; 

1  only  have  relinquished  one  delight 

To  live  beneatli  your  more  habitual  sway. 

1  love  the  Brooks  which  down  their  channels  fret, 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  tliey ; 

The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  Day 

Is  lovely  yet ; 
The  Clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun 
Do  take  a  sober  colouring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality ; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won. 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live, 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears, 
To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

Wordsworth  ncvci  wrote  any  poem  of  which  it  can 
be  more  truly  said  than  of  his  great  Ode,  'Of  the 
soul  the  body  form  doth  take.'  The  student  of  verse 
should  memorize  it,  and  frequently  repeat  it,  until  the 
varied  forms  come  out  to  his  feelings. 


IV. 


EFFECTS  SECURED  BY  A  SHIFTIXCi  OF  THE  REG- 
ULAR ACCENT,  AND  BY  ADDITIONAL  UNAC- 
CENTED   SYLLABLES. 

AS  this  is  an  important  feature  in  the  most  organic 
English  verse,  a  feature  through  which  some  of 
the  best  metrical  effects,  both  logical  and  aesthetic, 
are  secured,  it  is  worth  while  to  introduce  the  subject 
with  some  of  Dr.  Johnson's  condemnations  of  the 
variety  which  is  essential  to  harmony,  contained  in 
his  Essay  on  the  Versification  of  Milton,  to  show,  if 
for  nothing  else,  how  far  opinions  about  verse,  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  went  astray,  in  respect  to  this 
feature,  as  they  did  in  respect  to  many  others  —  in 
most  others. 

'The  heroic  measure  of  the  English  language,' 
says  the  Doctor,  '  may  be  properly  considered  as  pure 
or  mi.xcd.  It  is  pure,  when  the  accent  rests  upon 
every  second  syllable  through  the  whole  line.  .  .  . 

*  The  repetition  of  this  sound  or  percussion  at 
equal  times  is  the  most  couipletc  harmony  of  which  a 
single  verse  is  eapable}  and  should  therefore  be  exactly 
kept  in  di.stichs,  and  generally  in  the  last  line  of  a 
paragraph,  that  the  ear  may  rest  without  any  sense  of 
imperfection. 

1  The  italics  throughout  the  extract  given  are  mine.  —  II.  C. 

35 


36        sniirixG  of  the  regular  accent. 

'  But  to  preserve  the  scries  of  sounds  untransposed 
in  a  long  composition,  is  not  only  very  difficult,  but 
tiresome  and  disgusting ;  for  we  are  soon  wearied 
with  the  perpetual  recurrence  of  the  same  cadence. 
Necessity  has  therefore  enforced  the  mixed  measure, 
in  which  some  variation  of  the  accents  is  allowed. 
This,  though  it  always  injures  the  harmony  of  the  line 
considered  by  itself,  yet  compensates  the  loss  by  re- 
lieving us  from  the  continual  tyranny  of  the  same 
sound ;  and  makes  us  more  sensible  of  the  harmony 
of  the  pure  measure.' 

Here  we  see  that  some  variation  of  the  accents  is 
allowed  as  a  relief.  The  expressiveness  of  such 
variation  is  entirely  ignored.  A  departure  from  the 
'  pure  '  is  a  necessary  evil.  The  thing  to  be  especially 
noted  is,  that  verse  is  regarded  as  an  end  to  itself. 

The  Doctor  continues : 

'  Of  these  mi.xed  numbers  every  poet  affords  us 
innumerable  instances;  and  Milton  seldom  has  two 
pure  lines  together,  as  will  appear  if  any  of  his  para- 
graphs be  read  with  attention  merely  to  the  music' 

(Here  the  Doctor  must  be  understood  to  mean  that 
wherever  Milton's  verses  are  not  '  pure,'  their  music 
is  marred  ! ) 

He  then  quotes  the  following  from  '  Paradise  Lost,' 
iv.  720-735: 

Thus  at  their  shady  lodge  arrived,  both  .stood, 
Hoth  turned,  and  under  o|)en  sky  adored 
The  Cioo  that  made  l)()th  sky.  air.  earth,  and  heaven, 
Which  tliey  Itciicld.  the  moon's  resplendent  ^d(>l>e. 
And  starry  pole  :   Thou  also  tnatCst  the  nii^ht. 
Maker  omnipotent,  and  thou  the  day, 


SHIFTING    OF   THE  REGULAR  ACCENT.  37 

Which  we,  in  our  appointed  work  employed 
Have  finisli^d,  happy  in  our  mutual  help 
And  mutual  love,  the  crown  of  all  our  bliss 
Ordain'd  by  thee ;  and  this  delicious  place 
For  us  too  large,  where  thy  abundance  wants 
Partakers,  and  uncropt  falls  to  the  ground. 
But  thou  hast  promised  from  us  two  a  race 
To  fill  the  Earth,  who  shall  with  us  extol 
Thy  goodness  infinite,  both  when  we  wake, 
And  when  we  seek,  as  now,  thy  gift  of  sleep. 

'  In  this  passage  it  will  be  at  first  observed  that 
all  the  lines  are  not  equally  harmonious ;  and  upon  a 
nearer  examination  it  will  be  found  that  only  the  fifth 
and  ninth  lines  are  regular,  and  the  rest  are  more  or 
less  licentious  with  respect  to  the  accent.  In  some 
the  accent  is  equally  upon  two  syllables  together,  and 
in  both  strong.     As 


^&- 


Thus  at  their  shady  lodge  arrived,  both  stood. 

Both  turned,  and  under  open  sky  adored 

The  God  that  made  both  sky,  air,  earth,  and  heaven. 

*  In  others  the  accent  is  equally  upon  two  syllables, 
but  upon  both  weak  : 

a  race 
To  fill  the  Earth,  who  shall  with  us  extol 
Thy  goodness  infinite,  both  when  we  wake, 
And  when  we  seek,  as  now,  thy  gift  of  sleep. 

'  In  the  first  pair  of  syllables  [of  a  verse]  the 
accent  may  deviate  from  the  rigor  of  exactness,  with- 
out any  iinpleasitig  diinitiution  of  Jiarniojiy,  as  may  be 
observed  in  the  lines  already  cited,  and  more  remark- 
ably in  this : 

Thou  "also  niad'st  the  night, 
Arcrker  omnipotent,  and  thou  tlie  day. 


38  SHIFTING    OF   TIIL   KEGULAK   ACCENT. 

The  Doctor  confounds  harmony  with  uniformity, 
and  does  not  at  all  recognize  the  lac^  that  variety  is 
as  essential  to  harmony  as  is  unity.  Ikit  the  most 
surprising  thing  is  that  he  is  entirely  deaf  to  the 
special  expressiveness  of  variety  in  verse. 

He  continues  : 

'  But  excepting  in  the  first  pair  of  syllables,  which 
may  be  considered  as  arbitrary,  a  poet,  who,  not  hav- 
ing the  invention  or  knowledge  of  Milton,  has  more 
need  to  allure  his  audience  by  musical  cadences, 
should  seldom  suffer  more  than  one  aberration  from 
the  rule  in  any  single  verse.' 

This  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  a  poet,-  not  having 
the  invention  or  knowledge  of  Milton,  cannot  afford 
to  sacrifice  music  by  admitting  irregular  accents  — 
music,  of  course,  according  to  the  Doctor,  depending 
on  uniformity  of  accent,  all  deviations  from  uniformity 
marring  the  music,  but  being  necessary,  occasionally, 
as  a  blessed  relief ! 

The  Doctor  has  still  further  condemnation  to  j>ro- 
nounce  upon  the  passage  quoted  : 

'  There  are  two  lines  in  this  passage  more  remark- 
ably inharmonious : 

tlii.s  delicious  place 
For  us  loo  large.  u>Jiere  Hiy  al)Uiulancc  wants 
Partakers,  and  \\\\q\o\>\  falls  to  the  j^round. 

'Here  the  third  pair  of  syllables  in  the  first,  and 
fourth  pair  in  the  second,  verse,  have  their  accents 
retrograde  or  inverted  ;  the  first  syllable  being  strong 
or  acute,  and  the  second  weak.  The  (ietriment,  ivliich 
he  viea.oire  suffers  by  this  inversion  of  the  acecnts, 
i»;    votnetimi-^    k*^s    perce|itiblt'.   when    the  verses  are 


SHIFTING    OF   THE   REGULAR  ACCENT. 


39 


carried  one  into  another,  but  is  remarkably  strikmg  in 
this  place,  where  the  vicious  verse  concludes  a  period.' 

Now  the  ripple  which  makes  the  last  verse 
'  vicious,' 

Partakers,  and  uncropt/rt//j  to  the  ground, 

not  only  contributes  to  harmony,  but  imparts  a  pecu- 
liar expressiveness  and  suggestiveness  to  the  verse. 

To  take  up  again  the  interrupted  sentence :  *  The 
detriment  which  the  measure  suffers  by  this  inversion 
of  the  accents,  is  sometimes  less  perceptible,  when 
the  verses  are  carried  one  into  another,  .  .  .  and  is 
yet  more  offensive  in  rhyme,  when  we  regularly 
attend  to  the  flow  of  every  single  line.  This  will 
appear  by  reading  a  couplet,  in  which  Cowley,  an 
author  not  sufficiently  studious  of  harmony,  has  com- 
mitted the  same  fault  : 

I  His  harmlesfj  life  / 

Does  with  substantial  blesstjdness/ abound, 
And  the  iibft  wings  of  peac^V^^r  him  round. 

'  In  these  the  law  of  tnetj'e  is  very  grossly  violated 
by  mingling  combinations  of  sound  directly  opposite 
to  each  other,  as  Milton  expresses  it  in  his  Sonnet 
to  Henry  Lawes,  by  cominitti)ig  short  and  long,  and 
setting  one  part  of  the  measure  at  variance  with  the 
rest.  The  ancients,  who  had  a  language  more  capa- 
ble of  variety  than  ours,  had  two  kinds  of  verse ;  the 
iambic,  consisting  of  short  and  long  syllables  alter- 
nately, from  which  our  heroic  measure  is  derived ; 
and  the  trochaic,  consisting  in  a  like  alternation  of 
long  and  short.  These  were  considered  as  opposites, 
and  conveyed  the  contrary  images  of  speed  and  slow- 
ness ;  to  confound  them,  therefore,  as  in  these  lines, 


40  SHI  FT  IXC    OF   THE   REGUIAR  ACCENT. 

is  to  deviate  from  the  established  practice.  Rut, 
where  the  senses  are  to  judge,  authority  is  not  neces- 
sary ;  the  ear  is  sufficient  to  detect  dissonance ;  nor 
should  I  have  sought  auxiliaries,  on  such  an  occasion, 
against  any  name  but  that  of  Milton.' 

All  this  is  sufficiently  dreary.  What  a  noble  pair 
of  ears  Johnson  reveals  in  the  whole  passage  quoted! 

It  does  not  appear  in  any  of  his  criticisms  that  he 
ever  thought  of  verse  as  having  an  end  beyond  itself. 
With  him,  the  object  of  verse  was  not  the  expression 
of  impassioned  and  spiritualized  thought,  but  to  be  — 
verse ! 

He  regarded  English  verse,  which  is  accentual, 
under  the  conditions  of  classical  verse,  which  is  quan- 
titative —  made  so  by  its  being  recited,  or  chanted,  in 
time.  Quantity,  in  classical  verse,  is  a  fixed  thing ; 
a  long  syllable  is  invariably  long,  and  equal  to  two 
short  ones  ;  and  a  short  syllable  is  invariably  short. 
But  in  accentual  verse,  the  same  monosyllabic  word 
may  be  an  accented  {i.e.  may  receive  the  ictus),  or 
an  unaccented  syllable,  in  a  verse  —  the  word  '  and,' 
for  examj)le,  which  might  be  supposed  to  be  always 
an  unaccented  syllable : 

Each  leaning  on  their  elbow.s  and  their  hips. 

—  Shakesphakk's  /  'tHus  and  Adonis,  44. 

Yet  hath  lie  been  mv  captive  and  my  slave. 

—  Id.  101. 

So  were  he  like  him  and  by  Venus'  side. 

—  rd.  180. 

In  the  ff)llowing  verse,  the  same  word,  'you,'  is 
accented  and  unaccented  : 

You  leave  us:  you  will  sec  llic  Kiiine. 

—  Tknnvsoh's  /.  M.  xcviii.  i. 


SHIFTING    OF  THE    REGULAR   ACCENT.  ^j 

So  in  the  following  passage  from  '  The  Princess,' 
the  words  *  fight '  and  '  strike  '  are  each  accented  and 
unaccented,  in  the  same  verse  : 

yet  whatsoever  you  do, 
Fight  and  tight  well;  strike  and  strike  home.      O  dear 
Brothers,  the  woman's  Angel  guards  you,  etc. 

V.  399. 

The  1st  foot  is  ax;  the  2d,  xa\  the  3d,  ax\  the 
4th,  xa. 

Even  '  to '  before  the  infinitive  may  receive  the 
ictus : 

That  'gainst  thyself  thou  stick'st  not  to  conspire. 

—  Shakespeare's  Sonnet,  lo.  6. 

In  the  very  next  verse  it  is  unaccented : 
Seeking  that  beauteous  roof  to  ruinate. 

So  much  by  way  of  introduction  to  the  subject  of 
this  chapter. 

Spenser,  sometimes,  for  a  special  enforcement, 
either  logical  or  aesthetic,  introduces  an  ax  foot  into 
his  xa  verse,  where,  by  employing  the  same  words, 
in  a  slightly  different  order,  he  might  have  preserved 
the  regular  xa  movement  —  an  evidence  that  the 
ripple  in  the  stream  is  not  arbitrary,  but  responsive 
to  the  poet's  feeling. 

Warton,  in  his  'Observations  on  the  Faerie  Queene,' 
indicates  how  verses,  in  which  such  significant  ripples 
occur,  can  be  made  smooth  or  '  correct '  according  to 
the  notions  of  the  school  of  criticism  to  which  he  and 
Johnson  belonged  ;  but  the  special  enforcement  se- 
cured by  the  ripple  is  then  lost. 


42 


SHIFTING    OF   THE   REGULAR  ACCEXT. 


As  an  example  of  iin  effective  exceptional  foot, 
take  the  last  of  the  following  verses : 

At  length  tlicy  came  into  a  forest  w yde, 

Whose  hideous  horror  and  sad  treniblinjj  sownd. 

Full  griesly  seemd :  Therein  they  long  did  rydc, 
Yet  tract  of  living  creature  none  they  fownd, 
Save  Heares,  Lyons,  and  Buls,  which  romed  them  arownd. 

—  3.  I.  14. 

'  Lyons '  is  an  ax  foot,  which  could  have  been 
avoided  by  a  transposition  of  the  words  '  Beares ' 
and  '  Lyons,'  thus  : 

Save  Lyons,  Beares,  and  Buls,  which  romed  them  arownd. 

But  the  poet  is  presenting  a  picture  of  savage  wild- 
ness,  and  his  feeling  caused  him  to  break  the  equable 
flow  of  the  verse  by  an  inversion  of  the  regular  xa 
foot.  Any  one  in  reading  the  verse,  first,  as  it  is 
given  in  the  '  F"acrie  Queene,'  and  then  with  the  xa 
movement  preserved,  will  feel  at  once  how  much 
more  suggestive  the  former  reading  is,  of  the  special 
pictorial  effect  aimed  after,  than  is  the  latter. 

In  the  last  verse  of  the  following  stanza,  the  poet 
employs  two  xxa,  instead  of  three  xa,  feet,  and  thus 
secures  a  strongly  imjiassioned  emphasis  (the  stanza 
expresses  the  lament  of  Una  for  the  loss  of  her  com- 
panion, the  Red-Cro.ss  Knight,  when  she  meets  with 
the  friendly  lion) : 

'  The  Lyon,  Lord  of  evcrie  beast  in  field,' 

Quoth  she,  *  his  princely  pujs.sance  doth  abate. 

And  mightic  proud  to  humble  wcake  does  yield, 
ForgftfuII  <if  the  hungry  rage,  which  late 

Him  prickt,  in  pittic  of  my  s;ul  cstiite  : 


SHIFTING    OF   THE  REGULAR  ACCENT.  43 

But  he,  r/ty  Lyon,  and  my  noble  Lord, 
How  does  he  find  in  cniell  hart  to  hate 
Her,  that  him  loved,  and  ever  most  adord 
As  the  God  of  my  life  ?  why  hath  he  me  aljhord  ? ' 

—  i.  I.  3.  7. 

The  voice  should  pass  lightly  over  'As  the'  and  'of 
my,'  and  should  utter  the  words  'God'  and  'life' 
with  a  strong  stress.  The  verse,  too,  with  one  excep- 
tion, is  composed  of  short  monosyllabic  words,  and 
these  contribute  something  to  the  effect. 

(It  will  be  found  that  strong  passion  is  most  effec- 
tively expressed  through  the  monosyllabic  words  of 
the  language ;  not  only  because  such  words  are,  for 
the  most  part,  Anglo-Saxon,  but  because  their  staccato 
effect  subserves  well  the  abruptness  of  strong  passion. 
Shakespeare  understood  the  peculiar  effectiveness  of 
monosyllabic  words.  Of  their  use  in  his  Dramas,  for 
the  expression  of  deep  pathos,  or  the  abruptness  of 
anger,  hate,  and  scorn,  see  examples  in  King  Lear, 
2.4.  112-115,  187-189,  194,  195,  269,  270,  274-280, 
283;  3.  2.  1,66,67,  72,  73;  4.  17-19,  20-22;  6.  113, 
114;  7.67-69;  4.  2.  30,31;  6.  96-104,  143-146,  178- 
186;  7.  45-50,  54-56;  5-  3-  8-19,  23-26,  258-264; 
306-312.  King  John,  4.  3.  95-100,  1 16-124.  Merchant 
of  Venice,  3.  3.  4-17.  Richard  III.,  i.  3.  103-133. 
Julius  Caesar,  4.  3.  1-125.)^ 

In  the  sixth  verse  of  the  following  passage  from 
Tennyson's  '  Morte  d'Arthur,'  an  xxa  foot,  '  in  an 
arch,'  is  employed  with  fine  effect.  Sir  Bcdivere,  at 
the  command  of  King  Arthur,  throws  Excalibur  into 
the  lake : 

1  See  my  '  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Shakespeare,'  pp.  loi-i  1 1. 


44  SHIFTIXG    OI-    THE   REGULAR  ACCEXT. 

Then  quickly  rose  Sir  Bedivere,  and  ran. 

And,  leaping  down  the  ridges  lightly,  plunged 

Among  the  bulnish-bQds,  and  clutched  the  sword. 

And  strongly  wheeled  and  threw  it.     The  great  brand 

Made  lightnings  in  tlie  splendour  of  the  moon. 

And  flashing  round  and  round,  and  whirled  in  an  arch. 

Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  morn. 

Seen  where  the  moving  isles  of  winter  shock 

By  night,  with  noises  of  the  northern  sea. 

So  flashed  and  fell  the  brand  Excalibur. 

The  repetition  of  the  word  *  round.'  in  the  verse, 
also  imparts  something  to  the  effect. 

The  voice  should  move  rapidly  over  '  in  an '  and 
make  a  wide  ui)ward  interval  on  '  arch  '  ;•  and  then 
the  exceptional  ictus  on  the  following  word  *  shot ' 
adds  to  the  effect. 

In  the  third  verse  of  the  following  passage  from 
Milton's  '  Paradise  Lost '  (iii.  739-742)  there  are  two 
xxa  feet= — '-y  an  aery  wheel,'  —  which  are  especially 
effective.  Satan,  in  the  disguise  of  a  stripling  cherub, 
having  been  directed  to  Paradise  by  the  Archangel 
Uriel, 

Took  leave;  and  toward  the  coa.st  of  earth  beneath, 
DiTwn  from  the  ecliptic,  sped  with  hoped  success, 
Thrtnvs  his  stcup  tliglit  in  man)  >tit  aery  wheel. 
Nor  stayed,  ti'!  "'1  Nipli;Ut.s'  top  lie  lights. 

An  effective  emphasis  is  also  secured  through  the 
initial  ax  feet,  'Down  from'  and  'Throws  his.'  The 
movement  of  the  verse  could  hardly  be  finer.  And  a 
lightsome  repose  is  secured  through  the  last  three 
words,  'top  he  lights,'  which  is  aided  by  the  heavy 
word  '  Niphatcs.'  and  even  by  the  alliteration  of  the 
/,  in  '-tes'  top 


SHIFTING    OF   THE  REGULAR  ACCENT.  45 

that  sea-beast 
Leviathian,  which  God  of  all  his  works 
Created  hug^j^  that  swifn  the  ocean  stream. 

—  p.  L.  i.   202. 

Of  the  effective  verse,  'Created  hugest,'  etc.,  ef- 
fective because  it  labors  in  its  movement.  Dr.  Bentley 
remarks,  'This  verse  has  accents  very  absonous  [!]. 
To  smooth  it,  I  take  the  rise  from  v.  196,  ejecting  the 
four  lines  intermediate : 

In  bulk  like  that 
Leviathan,"  whom  Ood  the  vastest  made 
Of  all  the  kinds  that  swim  the  ocean  stream.' 

Cowper,  who  appreciated  the  morale  of  Milton's 
verse  better  than  the  learned  and  audacious  '  emend- 
ator,'  says  of  this  verse :  '  The  author,  speaking  of  a 
vast  creature,  speaks  in  numbers  suited  to  the  subject, 
and  gives  his  line  a  singular  and  strange  movement, 
by  inserting  the  word  Jingest  where  it  may  have 
the  clumsiest  effect.  He  might  easily  have  said  in 
smoother  verse, 

Created  hugest  of  the  ocean  stream, 

but  smoothness  was  not  the  thing  to  be  consulted 
when  the  Leviathan  was  in  question.' 

Of  the  great  fishes,  Milton  says,  in  the  description 
of  the  fifth  day's  creations : 

part,  huge  of  bulk, 
Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait, 
Tempest  the  ocean. 

—  P.  L.  vii.  411. 

Hugeness  and  unwieldincss  could  hardly  be  better 
suggested  than  they  are,  first,  by  the  character  of  the 


_^5  SHIFT rXG    OF   THE  REGULAR   ACCENT. 

words  themselves,  and,  secondly,  by  the  movement  of 
the  verse,  the  first  two  feet  of  which  are  axx  and  xax\ 
or,  the  scansion  mijjht  be, 

wallow  ling  unwield|y  enorm|, 

an  ax  and  two  xxa  feet ;  '  unwieldy  '  should  receive 
the  downward  inflection,  and  should  be  followed  by 
a  pause  ;  so  that  the  word  is  in  effect  an  xax. 

The  initial  word  '  Tempest,'  used  as  a  verb,  is  in 
itself  most  expressive  ;  and  being  ax,  it  is  emphasized 
by  receiving  an  exceptional  ictus. 

Dr.  Hentloy  does  not  suggest  any  mode  of  smoothing 
these  verses ! 

So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 
.Moved  on,  with  difficulty  and  labour  he. 

—  P.  L.  ii.  loai,  lojj. 

The  fourth  foot  of  each  of  these  verses  is  an  xxa 
('-ty  and  la-').  A  suggestion  of  struggle  is  imparted 
by  the  exceptional  feet  which  is  helped  by  the  repe- 
tition of  the  phrase,  '  with  difficulty  and  labour.' 

Much  of  the  perfection  of  the  verse  of  the  '  Para- 
dise Lost,'  both  in  respect  to  its  music  and  its  rhyth- 
mical movements,  its  pause-melody,  and  the  melodious 
distribution  of  emphasis,  was  due,  no  doubt,  to  some 
extent,  to  Milton's  blindness,  which,  ui  the  first  place, 
must  have  rendered  his  ear  more  delicate  than  it  would 
otherwise  have  been  (it  was  naturally  fine  and  had 
been  highly  cultivated  in  early  life,  through  a  study  of 
music),  and  which,  in  the  second  place,  by  its  obliging 
him  to  dictate  his  poem  instead  of  writing  it  silently 
with  his  own  hand,  must  have  been  one  cause  why 
the  movement  of  the  verse  so  admirably  conforms  to 
its  pr()j)er  elocution. 


SHIFTING    OF   THE  REGULAR  ACCENT.  47 

Every  appreciative  reader  of  the  '  Paradise  Lost ' 
must  recognize  'the  beautiful  way  the  poet  has  of 
carrying  on  the  thought  from  line  to  line,  so  that  not 
only  does  each  line  satisfy  the  exactions  of  the  ear, 
but  we  have  a  number  of  intervolved  rings  of  harmony. 
Each  joint  of  the  passage,  when  it  is  cut,  quivers  with 
melody.' 

Mr.  Abbott,  in  the  section  of  his  '  Shakespearian 
Grammar'  devoted  to  Prosody,  starts  with  a  state- 
ment which  is  apt  to  convey,  which  does  convey,  a 
very  false  notion ;  a  notion,  too,  which  Mr.  Abbott 
himself  appears  to  entertain.  He  says:  'The  ordinary 
line  in  blank  verse  consists  of  five  feet  of  two  syllables 
each,  the  second  syllable  in  each  foot  being  accented. 

We  both  I  have  fed  |  as  well  |  and  we  |  can  both 
Endure  |  the  win  |  ter's  cold  |  as  well  \  as  he.' 

—  J.  C.  I.  2.  98,99. 

That's  quite  true.  But  what  he  next  says  involves 
a  false  idea:  'This  line,'  he  says, 'is  too  monotonous 
and  formal  for  frequent  use.  The  metre  is  therefore 
varied,'  —  therefore  varied,  that  is,  to  get  rid  of  the 
monotony  ;  — '  sometimes  ( i )  by  changing  the  position 
of  the  accent,  sometimes  (2)  by  introducing  trisyllabic 
and  monosyllabic  feet.'  '  It  would  be  a  mistake,'  he 
continues,  '  to  suppose  that  Shakespeare  in  his  tragic 
metre  introduces  the  trisyllabic  or  monosyllabic  foot  at 
random.'  Certainly  it  would.  A  great  metrical  artist 
never  does  anything  at  random.  '  Some  sounds  and 
collection  of  sounds,'  Mr.  Abbott  continues,  '  are  pe- 
culiarly adapted  for  monosyllabic  and  trisyllabic  feet.' 

The  last  sentence  indicates  what  he  means  when 
he  says  that  '  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 


48  SHIFTING    OF   THE   REGULAR  ACCENT. 

Shakespeare  in  his  tragic  metre  introduces  the  tri- 
syllabic or  monosyllabic  foot  at  random.'  He  means, 
as  he  shows  in  the  next  sentence  but  one,  that  there 
is  a  law  of  slurritig  or  suppression,  by  which  extra 
light  syllables  are  forced  into,  or  got  over,  in  the 
enunciation  of  the  verse.  It  is  of  course  important, 
at  the  outset,  to  determine  this  law ;  but  it  is  not 
particularly  important  in  itself.  Now,  why  is  it  im- 
portant }  It  is  imjjortant  to  determine  it,  in  order  to 
determine  what  are,  and  what  are  not,  significant 
departures  from  the  even  tenor  oi  the  verse  —  signifi- 
cant dcpurturca —  that  is,  departures  with  an  emotional 
or  a  logical  meaning. 

The  true  metrical  artist,  or  the  true  artist  of  any 
kind,  never  indulges  in  variety  for  variety's  sake. 
That  Shakespeare  was  a  great  metrical  artist  will 
hardly  be  disputed.  And  Alfred  Tennyson  is  a  great 
metrical  artist.  One  remarkable  feature  of  his  verse 
is,  the  closeness  with  which  the  standard,  the  modulus 
of  the  verse,  is  adhered  to,  while  there  is  no  special 
motive  for  departing  from  it.  When  he  does  depart 
from  it,  he  secures  a  special,  often  signal,  effect.  All 
metrical  effects  are  to  a  great  extent  relative  —  and 
relativity  of  effect  depends,  of  course,  upon  having  a 
standard  in  the  mind  or  the  feelings.  In  other  words, 
there  can  be  no  variation  of  any  kind  without  some- 
thing to  vary  from.  Now  the  more  closely  the  poet 
adheres  to  his  standard,  —  to  the  even  tenor  (modulus) 
of  his  verse,  —  so  long  as  there  is  no  logical  nor  icsthetic 
motive  for  departing  from  it,  the  more  effective  do 
his  departures  become  when  they  are  sufficiently 
motived.     All  non-significant  dei)artures  weaken  the 


SHIFTING    OF   THE  REGULAR  ACCENT.  49 

significant  ones.  In  other  words,  all  non-significant 
departures  weaken  or  obscure  the  standard  to  the 
mind  and  the  feelings. 

The  same  principle  holds  in  reading.  A  reader 
must  have  a  consciousness  or  sub-consciousness  of  a 
dead  level,  or  a  pure  monotony,  by  which  or  from 
which  to  graduate  all  his  departures ;  and  it  is  only 
by  avoiding  all  non-significant  departures  that  he 
imparts  to  his  hearer  a  consciousness  or  a  sub-con- 
sciousness of  his  own  standard.  If,  as  many  ambitious 
readers  do,  he  indulge  in  variety  for  its  own  sake, 
there  is  little  or  no  relativity  of  vocal  effect  —  there 
is  no  vocal  variety,  properly  speaking,  but  rather 
vocal  chaos.  There  should  never  be  in  reading  a  non- 
significant departure  from  a  pure  monotony.  But 
elocution  is  understood  by  some  readers,  especially 
professional  readers,  to  mean  cutting  vocal  capers,  as 
good  penmanship  is  thought  by  professional  writing- 
masters  to  consist  in  an  abundance  of  flourishes. 
And  so,  in  order  to  secure  the  best  effects,  there 
should  never  be  in  verse  non-significant  departures 
from  the  normal  tenor  of  the  verse.  And  great 
metrical  artists  do  not  make  such  departures.  The 
normal  tenor  of  the  verse  is  presumed  to  represent 
the  normal  tenor  of  the  feeling  which  produces  it. 
And  departures  from  that  normal  tenor  represent,  or 
should  represent,  variations  in  the  normal  tenor  of  the 
feeling.  Outside  of  the  general  law,  as  set  forth  in 
Abbott's  'Grammar,'  of  the  slurring  or  suppression  of 
extra  light  syllables,  which  do  not  go  for  anything  in 
the  expression,  an  exceptional  foot  must  result  in 
emphasis,  whether  intended  or  not,  either  logical  or 


50 


SHIFTING    OF   THE    REGULAR   ACCENT. 


emotional.  And  it  the  resultant  emphasis  is  not  called 
for,  the  exceptional  foot  is  a  defect  in  the  verse, 
entirely  due,  it  may  be,  to  a  want  of  metrical  skill. 
It  is  like  a  false  note  in  music.  But  a  great  poet  is 
presumed  to  have  metrical  skill ;  and  where  ripples 
occur  in  the  stream  of  his  verse,  they  will  generally 
be  found  to  justify  themselves  as  organic;  i.e.  they 
are  a  part  of  the  expression. 

The  slightest  ripple  in  the  flow  of  the  verse  is  that 
caused  by  an  inversion  of  the  normal  xa  foot ;  but,  as 
shown  in  the  following  examples,  it  has  always  a 
more  or  less  ai)preciable  effect,  generally  as  impart- 
ing a  logical  emphasis  —  an  emphasis  of  an  idea.  It 
should  be  added  that  when  a  verse  begins  with  an 
ax  foot,  the  second  accent  is  felt  to  be  somewhat 
stronger,  from  the  fact  that  it  is  preceded  by  two 
unaccented  syllables ;  for  example,  in  the  following 
verse  from  '  Romeo  and  Juliet'  (5.  i.  70)  : 

Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  thine  eyes. 

The  stress  upon  the  second  syllable  of  '  oppression ' 
impresses  as  stronger  by  reason  of  the  two  preceding 
unaccented  syllables,  'and'  and  'op-.'  Again,  xxa 
and  axx  feet,  if  organic,  more  generally  impart  a 
moral  emphasis;  that  is,  they  are  exponents  of  feel- 
ing. It  should  be  added  that  exceptional  feet  are 
more  emphatic  in  what  I  call,  in  my  '  Introduction  to 
the  Study  of  Shakespeare,'  the  recitative  (or  metrp- 
bound )  form  of  Shakespeare's  ver.se,  than  they  are 
in  the  more  spontaneous  form,  for  the  reason  that  in 
the  recitative  form,  the  sense  of  rhythm  and  metre  is 
stronger. 


V. 

EXAMPLES  OF  ORGANIC  VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

IN  the  following  verses  from  Shakespeare,  the 
exceptional  ax,  axx,  and  xxa  feet,  while  being 
elements  of  melody  and  harmony,  by  imparting 
variety  to  uniformity,  result  in  emotional  emphases, 
or,  sometimes,  logical  emphases. 

Cankered  with  peace,  to  part  your  cankered  hate  : 

—  Romeo  and  "jfiiliety  i.  i.  102. 

The  repetition  of  the  word  '  cankered  '  is  also  effec- 
tive here. 

As  is  the  bud  bit  with  an  envious  worm. 

—  Id.  I.  I.  157. 

The   alliteration  '  bud  bit,'  and    the    abrupt   word 
'  bit,'  help  the  effect  of  the  inversion. 

Love  is  a  smoke  raised  with  the  fume  of  sighs ; 
Being  purged,  a  fire  sparkling  in  lovers'  eyes ; 
Being  vexed,  a  sea  nourished  with  lovers'  tears  : 

—  Id.  I.  I.  196-198 

Gallop  apace,  yo\i  fiery  footed  ?,ittA%, 

—  Id.  3.  2.  I. 


That  T\xnaway''s  eyes  may  wink,  and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalked  of  and  unseen. 


—  Id.  3.  2.  6,  7. 


Some  word  there  was,  worser  tiian  T)balt\s  death, 

—  Id.  3.  a.  108. 

5» 


52 


ORGANIC    VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

By  leaving  earth  ?     Comfort  me,  counsel  me. 

—  Id.  3.  5.  aoo. 

Oh,  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris, 

—  A/.  4.  I.  77. 

C/'t'^  w^.  ,^/7v  /«£'.'     Oh,  tell  nt)t  me  of  fear  ! 

—  Id .  4.   I.   121. 

Green  earthen  pots,  bladders  and  musty  seeds, 
Refimants  of  packthread  and  old  cakes  of  roses, 

—  Id.  5.  1.46, 47. 

Art  thou  so  ba.sc  and  full  of  \vrelchedne.ss. 
And  fear'st  to  die?  famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 
A^<ftf</ ««</ oppression  starveth  in  thine  eyes, 

—  !d.  5.  I.  68-70. 

The  obsequies  tliat  I  for  tliee  will  keep 

Nightly  siiall  Ijo  to  strew  thy  grave  and  weep. 

—  Id.  5. 3.  16, 17. 

What  cursed  foot  wanders  this  way  to-night, 

—  Id.  5. 3. 19. 

What,  with  a  torch  ?  muffle  me,  night,  awhile. 

—  Id.  5.  3.  Bl. 

Thou  detestAble  maw,  thou  womb  of  death. 
Gorged  with  the  dearest  morsel  of  the  earth. 

—  Id.  5.  3.  45,  46. 

Saint  Francis  l)e  my  speed  I  how  oft  to-night 

Have  my  old  feet  stumbled  at  graves  !    Who's  there  ? 

—  Id.  5.  3.  lai,  laa. 

Poison,  I  see,  hath  been  his  timeless  end  : 

—  Id.  5. 3.  16a. 

/V//ful  sight  I  here  lies  tlie  county  slain  ; 

—  Id.  5.  3.  174. 

Go  tell  the  prince  :  ;////  to  the  Capulets  ; 

—  Id.  5. 3.  177. 

A  post  from  Wales,  louden  with  heavy  news  ; 

—  I  llrnry  II'.  1.  1.  37. 

I  will  from  henceforth  rather  be  my.self. 
Mighty  and  to  be  feared,  than  my  condition  : 
Which  hath  been  smooth  a.s  oil,  soft  as  young  down, 

-Id.  I.  ,.  <-7. 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  53 

Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  my  sword, 

—  [d.  I.  3.  32. 

Fresh  as  a  bridegroom  ;  and  his  chin  new  reaped 

—  /d.i.  3.  34. 

Zounds,  I  will  speak  of  him  ;  and  let  my  soul 

—  Id.  I.  3.  131. 

An  extra  emphasis  is  secured,  of  course,  when  the 
logical  emphasis  does  not,  as  here,  correspond  with 
the  rhythmical  ictus. 

And  on  my  face  he  turned  an  eye  of  death, 
Trembling  even  at  the  name  of  Mortimer. 

—  Id.  I.  3.  144. 

I  know  you  wise,  but  yet  no  farther  wise 
Than  Harry  Percy's  wife  :  constant  you  are, 
But  yet  a  woman  : 

—  Id.  2.  3.  III. 

Shakes  the  old  beldame  earth  and  topples  down 
Steeples  and  moss-grown  towers. 

—  Id.  3.  I.  33. 

Bait  it  like  eagles  having  lately  bathed  ; 
Glittering  in  golden  coats,  like  images  ; 

—  Id.  4.  I.  99,  100. 

Wanton  as  youthful  goats,  wild  as  young  bulls. 

—  Id.  4.  I.   103. 

His  cuisses  on  his  thighs,  gallantly  armed, 

—  Id.  4.  I.  105. 

So  did  our  men,  heavy  in  Hotspur's  loss, 

—  2  Henry  11'.  i.  i.  121. 

And  in  his  flight. 
Stumbling  in  fear,  was  took. 

—  Id.  I.  I.  131. 

Coming  Xo  look  on  you,  thinkitig  yon  dead, 

—  /d.  4.  5.  156. 

Question  your  royal  thoughts,  make  the  case  yours  ; 

—  Id.  5.  2.  gi. 

I  know  thee  not.  old  man  :  fall  to  thy  prayers  ; 

—  Id.  5. 5. 51. 


54 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

A  kingdom  for  a  stage,  princes  to  act ; 

^  —///«r>  r.  Prologue,  3. 

Carry  them  here  and  there  ;  jumping  o'er  times, 

—  A/.,  Prologue,  99. 

Genlly  to  hear,  kindly  to  judge  our  play. 

■^  —/</.,  Prologue,  34. 

Never  was  such  a  sudden  scholar  made ; 

Never  came  reformation  in  a  flood, 

—  Id.  1. 1.  3a,  33. 

Grew  like  the  summer  grass,  fasicst  by  night, 

—  Id.  1.  I.  65. 

Be  in  their  flowing  cn^?,  freshly  remembered. 

—  /</•  4-  3-  55. 

Hopeless  and  helpless  doth  /Egeon  wend, 

—  Comedy  of  Errors,  1.  i.  157. 

Lightens  my  humour  with  his  merry  jests. 

i>  ■>  —Id.  1.  a.  ai. 

Are  mv  discourses  dull?  barren  my  wit? 

—  Id.  a.  1.  91. 

(Jf  credit  infinite,  highly  beloved, 

—  /(/.  5. 1. 0. 

And  gazing  in  mine  eyes,  feeling  my  pulse, 

°  —A/.  5.  I.  a43. 

Beauty  provoketh  thieves  sooner  than  gold. 

—  As  Voii  Like  It,  i.  3.  na. 

Which,  like  the  to.id.  iii^ly  and  venomous, 

—  Id.  1. 1.  13. 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks. 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing. 

—  Id.  a.  t.  16,  17. 

anon  a  careless  herd 

Full  of  the  pasture,  jumps  along  by  him 

■'  '  —  /d.  T.  1. 53. 

Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter. 

Frosty  but  kindly  : 

■'  '  -rd.  a.  3.  S3. 

Siehim  like  furnace,  with  a  woeful  ballad 

*        *  —Id.  a.  7.  148. 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  55 

Full  of  ?,tr2.nge  oaths  and  bearded  like  the  pard, 
Jealous  in  honour,  sudden  and  quick  in  quarrel, 
Seeking  the  bubble  reputation 
Even  in  the  cannon's  mouth. 

—  Id.  2.  7.  150-153. 

But,  mistress,  know  yourself:  down  on  your  knees, 

And  thank  heaven,  fasting,  for  a  good  man's  love : 

—  /</.  3-  5-  57- 

I  should  be  still 
Plucking  the  grass,  to  know  where  sits  the  wind ; 
Peering  in  maps  for  ports,  and  piers,  and  roads  ; 

—  Merchant  of  Venice,  i.  i.  i8,  19. 

My  wind,  cooling  my  broth. 
Would  blow  me  to  an  ague, 

—  fd.  I.  I.  22. 

Why  should  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  within. 

Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster? 

Sleep  when  he  wakes,  and  creep  into  the  jaundice 

By  being  peevish? 
^  *  ^  — /</.  1. 1.84, 85. 

Pluck  the  young  sucking  cubs  from  the  she-bear, 

—  Id.  2.  I.  29. 

The  patch  is  kind  enough,  but  a  huge  feeder; 
Snail-slow  in  profit, 

—  Id.  2.  5.  47. 

The  stress  should  be  on  '  Snail ' ;  the  two  heavy 
words  of  which  the  first  foot  is  composed,  add  to  the 
effect  of  the  idea. 

The  watery  kingdom  whose  ambitious  head 
Spits  in  the  face  of  heaven. 


—  Id.  2.  7.  45. 


Fled  with  a  Christian!     O  my  Christian  ducats! 
Justice!  the  law!  my  ducats,  and  my  daughter' 


Id.  2.  8.  16,  17. 


56  ORGAXIC    VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

Happy  in  tliis,  slie  is  not  yet  so  old 
But  she  may  learn  ;  happier  than  this. 
She  is  not  bred  so  dull  but  she  can  learn  ; 
Happiest  of  all  is  that  her  gentle  spirit 
Commits  itself  to  yours  to  be  directed, 

—  Id.  3.  a.  161-165. 

YoH  loved,  I Icniediox  intermission. 

—  Id.  3.  a.  aoi. 

Take  then  thy  bond,  take  thou  thy  pound  of  flesh  : 

—  Id.  4.  I.  307. 

In  such  a  night 
Did  pretty  Jessica,  like  a  little  shrew. 
Slander  her  love, 

—  Id.  5.  I.  aa. 

Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music. 

Creep  in  our  ears  : 

—  Id.  5. 1. 56. 

Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing  and  neighing  loud, 

-Id.  5. 1.  73. 

Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius  come. 

Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius! 

For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world  : 

Hated  by  one  he  loves  ;  braved  by  his  brother. 

Checked  like  a  bondman  ;  all  his  faults  observed. 

Set  in  a  note-book,  learned  and  conned  by  rote. 

To  cast  into  my  teeth.     O,  1  could  weep 

My  s])irit  from  mine  eyes  I  —  There  is  my  dagger. 

And  here  my  naked  breast ;  within,  a  heart 

Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine,  richer  than  gold  : 

—  JhHus  Casar,  4.  3,  93-109. 

Examples  from  Tennyson's  •  Princess.' 

Some  of  the  be.st  examj)le.s  are  foiiiul  in  Tennyson's 
'Princess'  and  'Idylls  of  the  Kin}.^.'  I^A'ery  ripple 
in  his  verse,  caused  by  a  shiftin;^  of  the  accent,  or  by 
additional   unaccented    syllables,    imj)arts  a   motived 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  57 

logical  or  emotional  emphasis.  Such  emphasis  is 
often  increased  by  an  accompanying  organic  allitera- 
tion. Various  other  interesting  metrical  effects  are 
exhibited  in  the  following  examples. 

Brake  wlth^z.  blzsi  of  trumpets  from  the  gate. 

while  the  twangling  violin 
Struck  up  with  Soldier-lacUi'/>,  and  t'verhead, 

The  abrupt  vowels  and  final  abrupt  consonants  of 
the  initial  words,  '  Struck  up,'  aid  the  effect. 

Petulant  she  spoke,  and  at  herself  she  laughed  ; 

The  abrupt  vowel  and  consonant  in  '  Pet-'  aid  the 
effect  of  the  initial  axx. 

he  started  on  his  feet, 
Tore  the  King's  letter,  snowed  it  ^own,  and  ren/ 
The  wonder  of  the  loom  thro'  warp  and  woof 
From  skixX.  to  sk'\x\. ; 

but  '  No  ! ' 
Roared  the  ?-ough  King,  '  you  shall  not ;  we  ourself 
Will  crush  her  pretty  maiden  fancies  </ea</ 
In  iron  gauntlets  :  brea^  the  ^rouncil  u/.' 

We  rode 
Many  a  /ong  /eague  back  to  the  iVorth.     At  last 

There  stood  a  bust  of  Pallas  for  a  sign. 

By  two  sphere  lamps  blazoned  like  Heaven  and  Earth 

With  f^wstellation  and  with  tvwtinent. 

Above  an  entry : 

Z>rink  rt'eep,  until  the  habits  of  the  slave, 
The  sins  of  emptiness,  gossip  and  spite 
And  slander,  die. 


jg  ORGANIC    VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

She  ended  here,  and  beckoned  us :  the  rest 

Parted;  and,  glowing  full-faced  welcome,  she 

Began  to  address  us,  and  was  moving  on 

In  gratulation,  till  as  when  a  boat 

Tacks,  and  the  slackened  ^M\/laps,  all  her  voice 

Faltering  and  buttering  in  her  throat,  she  cried, 

My  brother. 

I  would  be  that  for  ever  which  I  seem 
Woman,  if  I  might  sit  beside  your  feet, 

elegies 
And  quoted  odes,  and  jewels  five-words-long 
That  on  the  stretched  forefinger  of  all  Time 
sparkle  for  ever : 

An  extra  effect  is  imparted  to  the  effect  of  the  nx 
foot,  '  Sparkle,'  by  the  additional  light  syllable  '-er ' 
of  '  ever,'  before  the  break. 

I  learnt  more  from  her  in  a  fi;ush. 
Than  if  my  brainpan  were  an  empty  hull. 
And  every  Muse  tumbled  zl  science  in. 

The  abrupt  word  '  in  '  receiving;  the  ictus,  adds  to 
the  effect  of  the  cjx  foot,  '  tumbled.' 

once  or  twice  I  thought  to  roar 
To  hreak  my  c\\ain,  to  <,\\ake  my  mane:  but  thou. 
Modulate  me,  Soul  of  wincing  wiwicry  ! 

While  the  great  organ  almost  burst  his  pipes, 
Groaning  for  power,  and  ro//iiig  thro'  the  court 
A/ong  mc/odious  tluinder  to  the  jound 
Of  Jolemn  pjalms,  and  .rilver  /ilanies. 

There  while  we  stood  beside  tlie  fount,  and  watched 
Or  .seemed  to  watch  the  ddindng  bubble,  api)roached 
Melissa. 


ORGANIC    VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  59 

Here  the  exceptional  foot  is  an  xax. 

And  up  we  came  to  where  the  ri\  er  sloped 

To  plunge  in  cd.iaraci,  shattering  on  (Jlack  blocks 

A  (breadth  of  thunder. 

we  wound 
About  the  cliffs,  the  copses,  out  and  in, 
Hammering  and  clinking,  cha.ttering  stony  names 
Of  shale  and  hornblend,  rag  and  trap  and  tuff, 
Amygdaloid  and  trachyte,  ////  t/ie  Sun 
Grew  broader  toward  his  death  and  fell,  and  all 
The  rosy  heights  came  out  above  the  lawns. 

Note  with  what  beauty  the  italicized  verses  come 
in  after  the  'stony  names.' 

Then  she  '  Let  some  one  sing  to  us  :  lightlitr  move    - 
The  ;«inutes  fledged  with  wusic : ' 

So  sweet  a  z/oice  and  vague,  fatal  to  men, 

Not  vassals  to  be  beat,  nor  pretty  babes 

To  be  dandled,  no,  but  living  wills,  and  sphered 

Whole  in  ourselves  and  owed  to  none. 

hoof  by  hoof. 
And  every  hoof  a  knell  to  my  desires. 
Clanged  on  the  bridge  ; 

For  blind  rage  she  missed  the  plank,  and  rolled 

In  the  river.     Out  I  sprang  from  glow  to  gloom  : 

There  whirled  her  white  robe  like  a  (blossomed  (branch 

Hapt  to  the  horrible  fall :  a  glance  I  gave. 

No  more  ;  but  woman  vested  as  I  was, 

Plunged ;  and  the  flood  drew  ;  yet  I  caught  her ;  then 

Oaring  one  arm,  and  bearing  in  my  left 

The  weight  of  all  the  hopes  of  half  the  world, 

Strove  to  buffet  to  land  in  vain. 

The  metrical  effects  of  this  passage  are  especially 
notable.     Note  effect  of  the  xxa  foot,  '  In  the  riv-,' 


6o  O/iGAXIC   VARIETY  Ol-   MEASURES. 

coming  in  without  a  pause,  after  the  prolongable 
word  '  rolled  ' ;  the  alliterations  in  the  third  verse  ; 
the  initial  ax  feet  of  the  fourth,  sixth,  and  seventh 
verses ;  the  very  effective  xxa  foot,  '-ribble  fall,'  in 
the  fourth  verse ;  the  suggestion  of  struggle  in  the 
two  ax  feet  of  the  last  verse. 

A  little  space  was  left  between  the  horns. 
Thro'  whicli  I  clambered  o'er  at  top  with  pain, 
Dropt  OH  the  sward,  and  up  the  linden  walks. 

Note,  too,  the  effect  of  the  abrupt  words,  '  Dropt ' 
and  '  up.' 

I  heard  the  /JufTed  /Pursuer ;  at  mine  ear 
.    IhtbhUti  the  nightingale  and  heeded  not. 
And  jecre/  /augh/er  /ick/ed  a//  my  sowl. 

above  her  drooped  a  lamj), 
And  made  the  single  jewel  on  her  ^row 
Ihirn  like  tlie  m\slic  tire  on  a  m;ist-head, 
Prophet  of  storm. 

and  close  behind  her  stood 
Eight  daughters  of  the  plough,  stronger  than  men. 

As  of  some  fire  against  a  stormy  cloud. 
When  the  wild  peasant  rights  him.self,  the  rick 
Flames,  ami  his  anger  reddens  in  the  heavens ; 

her  bre.xst, 
lliaten  with  some  great  passion  at  her  heart, 
Palpitated,  her  hand  shook,  and  we  heard 
In  tlie  dead  hush  the  jjapers  that  she  held 
Piistle : 

tliey  to  and  fro 
Eluctitatetl,  as  flowers  in  storm,  some  red,  some  |)ale, 

and  the  wild  birds  on  the  light 
Das/t  ///^///selves  ttcat/. 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  gj 

Or,  falling,  protomartyr  of  our  cause, 
Die : 

She,  ending,  waved  her  hands :  thereat  the  crowd 
Muttering,  dissolved : 

While  I  listened,  came 
On  a  sudden  the  weird  seizure  and  the  doubt : 

Breathing  and  sounding  (beauteous  (battle,  comes 
With  the  air  of  the.  tru/m^tt  round  him,  and  leaps  in 
Among  the  women,  snares  them  by  the  score, 
/7fl'/'/'^r^(^/andy7ustered,  wins,  tho'  </ashed  with  flfeath 
He  reddens  what  he  kisses  : 

but  other  thoughts  than  Peace 
Burnt  in  us,  when  we  saw  the  embattled  squares. 
And  squadrons  of  the  Prince,  trampling  the  flowers 
With  clamour :  for  among  them  rose  a  cry 
As  if  to  greet  the  King ;  they  made  a  halt ; 
The  horses  yelled  ;  they  clashed  their  arms ;  the  drum 
Beat ;  merrify-Mowing  shrilled  the  martial  fife  ; 
And  in  the  blast  and  bray  of  the  long  horn 
And  serpent-throated  bugle,  undulat^^ 
The  banner :  anon  to  meet  us  lightly  pranced 
Three  captains  out ; 

and  standing  like  a  stately  Pine 
Set  in  a  cataract  on  an  island-crag. 
When  storm  is  on  the  heights,  and  right  and  left 
Sucked  from  the  dark  heart  of  the  long  hills  roll 
The  torrents,  dashed  to  the  vale: 

till  a  rout  of  saucy  boys 
Brake  on  us  at  our  books,  and  marred  our  peace. 
Masked  like  our  maids,  blustering  1  know  not  what 
Of  insolence  and  love. 

yet  whatsoe'er  you  do, 
Fight  and  fight  well ;  strike  and  strike  home.     O  dear 
Brothers,  the  woman's  Angel  guards  you, 


52  ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

and  once  more 
The  trumpet,  and  again  ;  at  which  the  storm 
Of  y:;a.\lopini^  hoofs  bare  on  the  ridge  of  spears 
And  riders  front  to  front. 

The  large  blows  rained,  as  here  and  everywhere 

He  rode  the  mellay,  lord  of  the  rint,'\nii  lists. 

And  all  the  plain,  —  brand,  mace,  and  j//aft,  and  shield  — 

Shocked,  like  an  iron-clanging  anvil  banged 

With  hammers ; 

came 
As  comes  a  pillar  of  electric  cloud, 
Flayim;  the  roofs  and  sucking  up  the  drains. 
And  shado7Vtn^  (imv/i  the  champain  till  it  strikes 
O/i  a  wood,  and  takes,  and  breaks,  and  cracks,  and  splits. 
And  twists  the  grain  with  such  a  roar  that  Eirth 
Reels,  and  the  iierdsnien  cry  ; 

by  them  went 
The  enamoured  air  sigiiing,  and  on  their  curls 
From  the  high  tree  the  blossom  wavering  fell. 
And  over  them  tiie  iTcmiilous  isles  of  light 
Slided,  they  moving  under  shade  : 

Thro'  open  field  into  the  lists  they  wound 
Timorously ; 

Steps  with  a  tender  foot,  light  as  on  air, 

Up  started  from  my  side 
The  old  lion,  glaring  with  his  whelplcss  eye, 
Silent ; 

and  when  she  saw 
The  haggard  father's  face,  and  reverend  beard 
Of  grisly  twine,  all  dabi)Ied  with  the  blood 
Of  his  own  son,  shuddered,  a  twitch  of  pain 
Tortured  her  mouth, 

to  them  the  doors  gave  way 
Groan  ntf^. 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  63 

And  on  they  moved  and  gained  the  hall,  and  there 
Rested  : 

she  said 
Brokenly,  that  she  knew  it,  she  had  failed 
In  sweet  humility ; 

The  two-celled  heart  beating,  with  one  full  stroke, 
Ufe. 

The  ax  foot,  '  beating,'  gains  additional  effect 
from  the  monosyllabic  words  before  and  after  it. 
The  same  is  true  of  the  preceding  ax  foot. 

the  walls 
Blackened  dihowi  us,  (Jats  wheeled  and  owls  whooped. 


Examples  from  the  '  Idylls  of  the  King.' 

Gareth  and  Lynette. 

and  Gareth  loosed  the  stone 
From  off  his  neck,  then  in  the  mere  beside 
Tumbled  it ;  oilily  bubbled  up  the  mere. 

,  The  last  verse  could  hardly  be  more  suggestive. 
Its  first  two  feet  are,  axx  ('  Tumbled  it '),  ^.r  ('  oili-'), 
its  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  are  xa.  If  Milton  had 
written  this  verse,  Dr.  Bcntley  would  no  doubt  have 
pronounced  it  '  absonous ' ;  and  Dr.'  Johnson  would 
have  said  that  '  the  law  of  metre  is  very  grossly  vio- 
lated by  mingling  combinations  of  sound  directly 
opposite  to  each  other,  ...  by  committing  short  and 
long,  and  setting  one  part  of  the  measure  at  variance 
with  the  rest.'  Verily,  'the  letter  killeth,  but  the 
spirit  giveth  life.' 


64  ORGA.V/C    V.-i'RIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

And  Gareth  silent  gazed  upon  the  knight, 

Who  stood  a  moment,  ere  his  horse  was  brought, 

Glorying ; 

He  spake ;  and  all  at  fiery  speed  the  two 
Shocked  on  the  central  bridge,  and  either  spear 
Bent  but  not  (irake,  and  either  knight  at  once. 
Hurled  as  a  stone  from  out  of  a  cat^->y\\\. 
Beyond  his  horse's  crupper  and  the  bridge, 
Fell,  as  if  dead  ; 

As  if  the  Hower, 
That  blows  a  globe  of  after  arrowlets. 
Ten  thousand-fold  had  grown,  /lashed  the  fx^rc^  j//ield, 
All  sun ; 

Geraint  and  Enid. 
And  watch  his  mightful  hand  striking  great  blows 

the  pang 
That  makes  a  man,  in  the  sweet  face  of  her 
Whom  he  loves  most,  lonely  and  miserable. 

The  Prince's  blood  spirted  upon  the  scarf, 
Dyeing  it ; 

And  out  of  town  and  valley  came  a  noise 
As  of  a  //road  ^rook  o'er  a  shingly  ^ed 
Brawling. 

The  voice  of  Knid,  Yniol's  daughter,  rang 
Clear  thro'  the  open  casement  of  the  Hall, 
Singing ; 

and  thrice 
They  clashed  togLllic;-.  ami  thrice  they  brake  their  spears. 
Then  each,  disluirsed  and  drawing,  Ia.shed  at  each 
So  often  and  with  such  blows,  that  all  the  crowd 
ITondered, 

liut  while  the  sun  yet  beat  a  dewy  blade. 
The  sound  of  many  a  heavily  galloping  hoof 
Smote  on  her  ear.  and  turning  round  she  .saw 
Dust,  and  the  points  of  lances  bicker  in  it. 


65 


ORGANIC    VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

And  none  spake  word,  but  all  sat  down  at  once, 
And  ate  with  tumult  in  the  naked  liall, 
Feeding  like  horses  when  you  \\eax  them  ieedi. ; 

He  spoke  :  the  brawny  spearman  let  his  cheek 

Bulge  with  the  unswallowed  piece,  and  turning  stared; 

Merlin  and  Vivien. 

And  after  that  she  set  herself  to  gain 

Hiiii,  the  most  famous  man  of  all  those  times, 

Merlin, 

She  took  the  helm  and  he  the  sail ;  the  boat 
Drove  with  a  sudden  wind  across  the  rfeeps, 

But  since  you  name  yourself  the  summer  fly, 
I  well  could  wish  a  cobweb  for  the  gnat, 
That  j-ettles,  <^eaten  (Jack,  and  (beaten  (Jack 
Settles,  till  one  could  yield  for  weariness  : 

She  ceased,  and  made  her  lithe  arm  round  his  neck 
Tighten . 

But  Vivien,  gathering  somewhat  of  his  mood. 
And  hearing  '  harlot '  muttered  twice  or  thrice. 
Leapt  from  her  session  on  his  Zap,  and  stooA 
Stiff  as  a  viper  frozen  ;  loathsome  sight. 
How  from  the  rosy  Zips  of  /ife  and  /ove, 
Flashed  the  bare-grinning  skeleton  of  death! 
White  was  her  cheek  ;  sharp  breaths  of  anger  puffed 
Her  fairy  nostril  out ; 

She  mused  a  little,  and  then,  clapt  her  hands 
Together,  with  a  wailing  shriek,  and  said  : 
Stabbed  through  the  heart's  affections  to  the  heart! 
Seethed  like  a  kid  in  its  own  mother's  milk! 
Killed  with  a  word  worse  than  a  life  of  blows! 

The  initial  ax  in  three  successive  verses  imparts  an 
abrupt  passionate  emphasis  to  the  speech. 


56  ORGANIC    VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

And  ever  overhead 
Bellowed  the  tempest,  and  the  rotten  branch 
Snapt  in  the  rushing  of  the  river-rain 
Above  them  ;  and  in  change  of  ^/are  and  .^Voom 
Her  eyes  and  neck  flittering  went  and  came  ; 


Lancelot  ami  Elaine. 

And  Arthur  came,  and  labouring  up  the  pass 
All  in  a  misty  moonshine,  unawares 
Had  trodden  that  crowned  skeleton,  and  the  skull 
Brake  from  the  nape,  and  turning  on  its  rims 
FU-d  like  a  gWUering  riv\\\ct  to  tlic  /"arn  : 

She  watched  their  arms  far-off 
sparkle,  until  they  rt'ipt  below  the  </owns. 

A  hermit,  who  had  prayed,  laboured  and  prayed 

and  anon 
The  trumpets  blew  ;  and  then  did  either  side, 
They  that  assailed,  and  they  that  held  the  lists. 
Set  lance  in  rest,  strike  spur,  sudden\\  move, 
.Meet  in  the  widst,  and  there  so  furiously 
S/iock,  that  a  man  far-otT  migiit  well  i)crceive. 
If  any  man  that  day  were  left  afield. 
The  hard  earth  shake,  and  a  Imv  thunder  of  arms. 

They  couched  their  spears  and  pricked  their  steeds  and  thus, 
Their  i)lumes  driv'n  backward  by  the  wind  they  made 
In  moving,  all  together  down  upon  him 
Bare,  as  a  loM  Tt^ve  in  the  7ride  North-sea. 
Green-glimmering  toward  the  summit,  /"ears,  with  all 
Its  stormy  crests  that  smoke  against  the  skies. 
Down  on  a  tork,  and  overyears  the  /ark. 
And  //im  that  //elms  it,  so  they  overbore 
Sir  I^mtelot  and  his  charger,  and  a  si)ear 
iJown-iilaiicing  lamed  the  charger,  and  a  spear 


ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES.  67 

Pricked  sharply  his  own  cuirass,  and  the  head 
Pierced  thro"  his  side,  and  there  snapt,  and  remained. 

And  all  wearied  of  the  quest 
Leapt  on  his  horse,  and  c^irolliin^as  lie  went 
A  true-love  ballad,  lightly  rode  away. 


Guinevere. 

aroused 
Lancelot,  who  nishing  outward  /ion/ike 
Leapt  on  Jiitn,  and  //ur/ed  Jam.  //ead/ong,  and  /^e  fe// 
Stunned,  and  his  creatures  took  and  bore  Iiini  oft' 
And  all  was  still : 

but  she  to  Almesbury 
Fled  all  night  long  by  glimmering  waste  and  Ti'eald, 
And  heard  the  Spirits  of  the  waste  and  weald 
Moan  as  she  fled,  or  thought  she  heard  them  moan : 
And  in  herself  she  moaned  '  too  late,  too  late  ! ' 
Till  in  the  cold  wind  that  foreruns  the  morn, 
A  blot  in  heaven,  the  Raven,  flying  high. 
Croaked,  and  she  thought  '  he  spies  a  field  of  death  ; ' 

And  still  at  evenings  on  before  his  horse 
The  dickering  fairy  circle  wheeled  and  broke 
Flying,  and  linked  again,  and  wheeled  and  broke 
Flying,  for  all  the  /and  was  full  of  life. 

There  rode  an  armed  warrior  to  the  doors. 
A  murmuring  whisper  thro"  the  nunnery  ran. 
Then  on  a  sudden  a  cry,  '  the  King.'     She  sat 
Stiff-stricken,  l/'stenmg  ; 

The  alliteration  and  the  repetition  of  the  fin  'Stiff,' 
'strick,'  'list,'  '-ing,'  aid  the  effect  of  the  initial  ax\ 
or  to  these  perhaps  is  due  the  chief  effect. 


68  ORGANIC   VARIETY  OF  MEASURES. 

For  perfect  grace  and  an  airy  lightsomeness  of 
movement ;  for  melody  and  harmony,  in  all  their 
various  forms,  from  the  most  easily  appreciable  up  to 
the  most  subtle ;  for  organic  variety  of  measures, 
such  as  is  exhibited  in  the  passages  given  above,  and 
for  almost  every  other  element  of  poetic  expressive- 
ness, the  young  student  can  read  no  poems  superior 
to  the  'Idylls  of  the  King,'  —  none  that  will  serve 
better  to  tune  his  feelings  to  organic  poetic  form. 


VI. 

SOME   OF  TENNYSON'S   STANZAS. 

NO  one  can  read,  however  superficially,  the  poetry 
of  Tennyson,  without  feeling  to  some  extent  the 
adaptedncss  of  his  rhythms,  metres,  stanzas,  rhyme- 
schemes,  melody,  harmony,  and  whatever  else  is 
embraced  under  the  comprehensive  idea  of  poetic 
form,  to  the  theme  and  the  entire  spiritual  motive. 
His  forms  are  instinct  with  the  indwelling  spirit, 
and  have  grown  out  of  it.  '  Of  the  soul,  the  body 
form  doth  take.'  *  Maud '  is  a  treasure-house  of 
organic  poetic  forms,  Peter  Bayne's  opinion  to  the 
contrary,  notwithstanding,  that  '  its  music  is  the 
music  of  kettle-drums  at  a  recruits'  ball,'  and  that 
'  the  poem  in  general  will  never  be  recognized  as 
tuneful  by  the  human  ear.'  The  ever-varying 
rhythm,  metre,  and  stanza,  correspond  with,  sym- 
bolize, and  incarnate  the  ever-varying  subjective 
states  and  moods  of  the  speaker,  who  is  grief- 
fraught  and  '  perplexed  in  the  extreme.' 

The  Stanza  of  ' In  Memoriam' 

In  the  verse  of  '  In  Memoriam,'  instinct  as  it  is 
with  a  sanctified  sorrow,  there 

69 


70  SOME    OF    TENNYSON'S  STANZAS. 

Is  nothing  sudden,  nothing  single  : 
Like  two  streams  of  incense  free 

From  one  censer,  in  one  shrine, 

Thought  and  motion  mingle. 
Mingle  ever.     Motions  flow 
To  one  another,  even  as  the' 
They  were  modulated  so 

To  an  unheard  melody.* 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 

Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  tlie  grass. 

Or  night-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 

Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass  ; 

Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies, 

Tlian  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes  : 

Music  tliat  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  blissful  skies. 

Here  are  cool  mo.sses  deep. 

And  thro"  the  moss  the  ivies  creep. 

And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers  weep." 

An  interesting  study  of  rhynic-cffcct  is  afforded 
by  the  stanza  of  '  In  Memoriam.'  Thou<;h  the  stanza 
is  not  original  with  Tenny.son  ( Hen  Jonson  having 
employed  it  in  an  F^legy'Mn  his  '  Underwoods,"  and 
Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti,  just  before  the  '  In  Memo- 
nam  '  apj)eared,  in  'My  Sister's  Sleep ').  Tennyson 
has  made  it  peculiarly  his  own  by  the  toning  he  has 
imparted  to  it. 

By  the  rhyme-scheme  of  the  quatrain,  the  terminal 
rhyme-emphasis  of  the  stanza  is  reduced,  the  second 
and  third  verses  being  the  mo.st  closely  braced  by  the 

•  *  Elcfinorc'  "  'The  Lotos-caters.' 

•  In  nine  Stan/as,  l)Cj;innin^; : 

Though  l»eauty  l)c  the  mark  of  praittc, 

And  yours,  of  whom  I  iing.  l>e  »uch 

An  not  the  world  can  praJM-  lo<i  much, 
Yd  i»'t  your  virtue  now  I  raise. 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  yi 

rhyme.  The  stanza  is  thus  admirably  adapted  to 
that  sweet  continuity  of  flow,  free  from  abrupt  checks, 
demanded  by  the  spiritualized  sorrow  which  it  bears 
along.  Alternate  rhyme  would  have  wrought  an 
entire  change  in  the  tone  of  the  poem.  To  be  assured 
of  this,  one  should  read,  aloud,  of  course,  all  the 
stanzas  whose  first  and  second,  or  third  and  fourth, 
verses  admit  of  being  transposed  without  affecting 
the  sense.  By  such  transposition,  the  rhymes  are 
made  alternate,  and  the  concluding  rhymes  more 
emphatic.  There  are  as  many  as  ninety-one  such 
stanzas;  and  of  these,  there  arc  thirteen  of  which 
either  the  first  and  second,  or  third  and  fourth,  verses 
may  be  transposed  without  any  violence  done  to  the 
sense.  These  stanzas  should  each  be  read,  first  as 
they  stand  in  the  poem,  and  then  with  the  first  two, 
or  the  last  two,  verses  transposed. 

The  following  stanzas  admit  of  having  their  third 
and  fourth  verses  transposed. 

Old  Yew,  which  graspest  at  the  stones 

That  name  the  under-lying  dead. 

Thy  fibres  net  the  dreamless  head, 
Thy  roots  are  wrapt  about  the  bones. 

—  ii.  I. 

To-night  the  winds  begin  to  rise 

And  roar  from  yonder  dropping  day : 

The  last  red  leaf  is  whirled  away. 
The  rooks  are  blown  about  the  skies. 

—  XV.   I. 

Still  onward  winds  the  dreary  way  ; 
I  with  it ;  for  I  long  to  prove 
No  lapse  of  moons  can  conquer  Love, 

Whatever  fickle  tongues  may  say. 


72 


SOME    OF   TEA'N y SOX'S   STAXZAS. 

Man,  her  last  work,  who  seemed  so  fair. 
Such  splendid  purpose  in  his  eyes. 
Who  rolled  tlic  psalm  to  wintry  skies, 
.  Who  built  him  fanes  of  fruitless  prayer. 

Who  breaks  his  birth's  invidious  bar. 
And  grasps  the  skirts  of  happy  chance. 
And  breasts  the  blows  of  circumstance. 

And  grapples  with  his  evil  star ; 

And  moving  up  from  high  to  higher, 
liecomes  on  Fortune's  crowning  slope 
The  pillar  of  a  people's  hope, 

The  centre  of  a  world's  desire ; 

Yet  feels,  as  in  a  pensive  dream, 
WMien  all  his  active  powers  are  still, 
A  distant  dearness  in  the  hill, 

A  secret  sweetness  in  the  stream. 

He  reached  the  glory  of  a  hand, 
Tiiat  seemed  to  touch  it  into  leaf; 
The  voice  was  not  the  voice  of  grief, 

Tlie  words  were  hard  to  understand. 

Beside  the  river's  wooded  reach. 
The  fortress  and  the  mountain  ridge. 
The  cataract  flashing  from  the  bridge. 

The  breaker  breaking  on  the  beach. 

Bring  orchis,  bring  tlic  foxglove  spire. 
The  little  s|)eedweirs  darling  blue. 
Deep  tulips  dash'd  with  fiery  dew. 

Laburnums,  dropping-wclls  of  fire. 

Whereat  we  glanced  from  theme  to  theme, 
Discussed  the  books  to  love  or  hate. 
Or  touched  the  changes  of  the  state. 

Or  threaded  some  Socratic  dream  ; 


—  Ivi.  3. 


'  bciv.  3, 


-IxJv.  4. 


— Ixiv.  5. 


—  Ixlx.  5. 


—  Ixxi.  4. 


—  Ixxxiii.  3. 


—  Ixxxix.  9. 


SOME    OF  TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  73 

Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood, 

The  civic  slander  and  the  spite  ; 

Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right, 
Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 


—  cvi.  6. 


See,  also,  Introductory  poem,  4,  5  ;  iii.  i  ;  xvi.  5  ; 
XX.  2  ;  XXV.  2  ;  xxviii.  3  ;  xxxvii.  3  ;  xxxviii.  3  ;  xli.  i  ; 
xliii.  I  ;  xlix.  3  ;  liii.  i  ;  Ixi.  2  ;  Ixiv.  6 ;  Ixvi.  4 ;  Ixix.  i ; 
Ixxii.  6;  Ixxiv.  2  ;  Ixxviii.  3  ;  Ixxxiv.  5;  Ixxxv.  i,  9; 
Ixxxvii.  6 ;  Ixxxviii.  i  ;  xc.  3 ;  xci.  2  ;  xciv.  3  ;  c.  2 ; 
cii.  3  ;  cviii.  4  ;  Concluding  poem,  27. 

The  following  stanzas  admit  of  having  their  first 
and  second  verses  transposed : 

I  sometimes  hold  it  half  a  sin 

To  put  in  words  the  grief  I  feel ; 

For  words,  like  Nature,  half  reveal 
And  half  conceal  the  Soul  within. 


-V.  I. 


And  doubtful  joys  the  father  move, 
And  tears  are  on  the  mother's  face, 
As  parting  with  a  long  embrace 

She  enters  other  realms  of  love  ; 

From  art,  from  nature,  from  the  schools. 
Let  random  influences  glance. 
Like  light  in  many  a  shivered  lance 

That  breaks  about  the  dappled  pools ; 

The  mystic  glory  swims  away  ; 

From  off  my  bed  the  moonlight  dies  ; 

And,  closing  eaves  of  wearied  eyes, 
I  sleep  till  dusk  is  dipt  in  gray : 

The  yule-clog  sparkled  keen  with  frost, 
No  wing  of  wind  the  region  swept. 
But  over  all  things  brooding  slept 

The  quiet  sense  of  something  lost. 


—  xl.  3. 


■  xlix.  I. 


—  Ixvii.  3. 


— Ixxviii.  2. 


74 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS. 

As  in  the  winters  left  behind, 

Again  our  ancient  games  had  place. 
The  mimic  picture's  breathing  grace, 

And  dance  and  song  and  hoodman-blind. 

At  one  dear  knee  we  proffered  vows. 
One  lesson  from  one  book  we  learned. 
Ere  childhood's  flaxen  ringlet  turned 

To  black  and  brown  on  kindred  brows. 

Dip  down  upon  the  northern  shore, 
O  sweet  new  year  delaying  long ; 
Thou  doest  expectant  nature  wrong ; 

Delaying  long,  delay  no  more. 


—  Ixxviii.  3. 


—  Ixxix.  4. 


—  Ixxxiii.  I. 


See,  also,  Introductory  poem,  3;  i.  3  ;  iii.  i  ;  iv.  i, 
4 ;  viii.  5  ;  ix.  4 ;  xv.  2  ;  xxx.  i  ;  xxxiii.  3  ;  Hi.  2 ;  Ivi. 
5  ;  Ixxiii.  2  ;  Ixxviii.  i  ;  Ixxx.  3  ;  xcvi.  4 ;  xcvii.  6  ;  civ. 
I ;  cxv.  2 ;  cxxi.  2 ;  cxxii.  5  ;  cxxv.  i ;  cxxviii.  5 ;  cxxx.  i  ; 
Concluding  poem,  i. 

The  following  stanzas  admit  of  having  either  their 
first  and  second,  or  third  and  fourth,  verses  trans- 
posed : 

I  hear  the  noise  about  thy  keel ; 
I  hear  the  bell  staick  in  the  night ; 
I  see  the  ailjin-window  Ijright ; 
I  .see  the  sailor  at  the  wheel. 


—  X.   I. 


I  hold  it  true,  whatc'er  befall ; 

I  feel  it  when  I  sorrow  most ; 

'Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

Whatever  way  my  days  decline. 
I  felt  and  feel,  tho'  left  alone. 
His  being  working  in  mine  own, 

The  footsteps  of  his  life  in  mine. 


—  XX vu.  4. 


—  Ixxxv.  tl. 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  75 

See,  also,  x.  i;  xxxi.  3;  Iv.  2;  Ix.  3;  lix.  3;  Ixxxv.  9; 
cvi.  2 ;  cvi.  7  ;  cxxviii.  4  ;  cxxx.  3  ;  cxxx.  4. 

These  stanzas  should  all  be  read  aloud  by  the 
student,  as  they  stand  in  the  poem,  and  then  with 
the  first  and  second,  or  third  and  fourth,  verses  trans- 
posed as  indicated.  If  he  has  any  susceptibility  what- 
ever to  rhyme-effect,  he  must  feel  the  change  wrought 
in  the  character  of  the  stanzas  by  making  their  rhymes 
alternate. 

The  poem  could  not  have  laid  hold  of  so  many 
hearts  as  it  has,  had  the  rhymes  been  alternate,  even 
if  the  thought-element  had  been  the  same.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  poem  would  not  have  served  so 
well  to  conduct  the  indefinitely  spiritual  element 
which  constitutes  the  essential  life  of  the  poem.  The 
twelfth  section  affords  a  good  illustration  of  the 
adaptedness  of  the  stanza  (due  to  the  reduction  of 
the  terminal  emphasis  by  means  of  the  rhyme-scheme) 
to  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  thought  and  feeling.  The 
poet,  in  his  impatience  for  the  arrival  of  the  vessel 
which  is  bearing  the  remains  of  his  friend  to  Eng- 
land, represents  himself  as  leaving  the  body,  and 
hastening  away,  in  spirit,  '  o'er  ocean-mirrors  rounded 
large,'  to  meet  it : 

Lo,  as  a  dove  when  up  she  springs 
To  bear  thro'  Heaven  a  tale  of  woe, 
Some  dolorous  message  knit  below 

The  wild  pulsation  of  her  wings  ; 

Like  her  I  go  :  I  cannot  stay  ; 
I  leave  this  mortal  ark  behind, 
A  weight  of  nerves  without  a  mind. 

And  leave  the  cliffs,  and  haste  away 


76  SOME   OF   TEXNYSOX'S  STAX/.AS. 

O'er  ocean-mirrors  rounded  large, 
And  reach  the  glow  of  southern  skies, 
And  see  the  sails  at  distance  rise, 

And  linger  weeping  on  the  marge, 

And  saying,  '  Comes  he  thus,  my  friend? 
Is  this  the  end  of  all  my  care?  ' 
And  circle  moaning  in  the  air: 
•  Is  this  the  end?     Is  this  the  end?  ' 

And  fonvard  dart  again,  and  play 

Aljout  the  prow,  and  back  return 

To  where  the  body  sits,  and  learn. 
That  I  have  been  an  hour  away. 

No  Other  stanza,  with  a  stronfji^r  terminal  emphasis, 
could  so  aesthetically  express  the  Hight  of  eager 
desire,  as  it  is  expressed  here. 

A  still  more  remarkable  illustration  of  the  peculiar 
adaptedness  of  the  stanza  is  afforded  by  the  eighty- 
sixth  section.  The  four  stanzas  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed con.stitute  but  one  period,  the  sense  being 
suspended  till  the  close.  The  rhyme-emphasis  is 
so  distributed  that  any  one,  hearing  the  j)ocm 
read,  would  hardly  be  sensible  of  any  the  slightest 
Aecks  in  the  continuous  and  even  movement  of  the 
verse. 

The  poet  addresses  the  sweet  western  evening  air, 
after  a  shower,  and  invokes  it  to  fan  his  brow.s,  and 
blow  the  fever  from  his  cheek,  and  sigh  the  full  new 
life  that  feeds  its  breath,  throughout  his  fame.  The 
poem,  in  its  movement,  is  like  a  rhythmical  zephyr. 
The  reposeful  ending  on  the  final  word  *  Peace '  has 
a  great  charm  : 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  yy 

Sweet  after  showers,  ambrosial  air, 
That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 

And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below 
Thro'  all  the  dewy-tasselled  wood, 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 

In  ripples,  fan  my  brows  and  blow 

The  fever  from  my  cheek,  and  sigh 
The  full  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 

111  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 

On  leagues  of  odor  streaming  far, 

To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 
A  hundred  spirits  whisper  '  Peace.' 

The  third  verse  of  the  '  In  Memoriam '  stanza 
receives  a  stronger  rhyme-emphasis  than  the  fourth, 
by  reason  of  its  rhyming  with  an  adjacent  verse ; 
but  in  this  eighty-sixth  section  that  emphasis  is 
somewhat  reduced,  by  the  very  slight  pause  which 
is  required,  in  reading,  at  the  end  of  the  third  verse. 
In  fact,  no  pause  whatever  is  required  there,  in  the 
first  and  second  stanzas. 

There  is  no  other  section  of  '  In  Memoriam '  in 
which  the  artistic  motive  oY  the  stanza  is  so  evident. 

In  reading  this  section,  an  equaHty  of  vocal  move- 
ment should  be  preserved  throughout.  See,  also, 
XV.  St.  3-5;  xcvi.  St.  4-6;  xcviii.  st.  3-8;  cxviii;  cxxvii. 
St.  3-5  ;  cxxxi. 


78  SOME    OF   TENXYSON'S   STAXZAS. 

The  Sianza  of  '  7'/it-   7u>o   Voicis.' 

What  the  i)oct,  in  the  '  In  Memoiiani  '  aimed  to 
avoid,  in  '  The  Two  Voices '  he  aimed  to  secure, 
namely,  a  close  emphasized  stanza.  The  poem  con- 
sists, in  great  part,  of  a  succession  of  short,  epigram- 
matic arguments,  pro  and  con,  to  which  the  stanza  is 
well  adapted.  It  is  composed  of  three  short  verses  — 
4-ra  —  all  rhyming  together.  The  terminal  rhyme- 
emphasis,  to  which  the  shortness  of  the  verses  also 
contributes,  is  accordingly  strong,  and  imparts  a  very 
distinct  individuality  to  each  and  every  stanza. 

The  following  stanzas  from  the  opening  of  the 
poem,  afford  sufficient  illustrations  of  the  adaptedness 
of  the  stanza  to  the  theme  : 

A  .still  .small  voice  .spake  unto  me, 
'  Thou  art  .so  full  of  misery. 
Were  it  not  better  not  to  be  ? ' 

Then  to  the  still  small  voice  I  .said : 
'  Let  me  not  cast  in  endless  shade 
What  is  so  wonderfully  made.' 

To  which  the  voice  did  urge  rejjly  : 

'  To-day  I  .saw  the  dragon-fly 

Come  from  the  wells  where  he  did  lie. 

'  An  inner  impulse  rent  the  veil 
Of  his  old  husk :  from  head  to  tail 
Came  out  clear  jjlates  of  sapi)hire  mail. 

'  He  dried  his  wings  :  like  gauze  they  grew  : 
Thro'  crofts  and  pastures  wet  with  dew 
A  living  flash  of  light  he  flew.' 


SOME    OF  TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  yc^ 

I  said,  '  When  first  the  world  began, 
Young  Nature  thro'  five  cycles  ran. 
And  in  the  sixth  she  moulded  man. 

'  She  gave  him  mind,  the  lordliest 
Proportion,  and  above  the  rest, 
Dominion  in  the  head  and  breast.' 

Thereto  the  silent  voice  replied : 
'  Self-blinded  are  you  by  your  pride  : 
Look  up  thro'  night :  the  world  is  wide. 

'  This  truth  within  thy  mind  rehearse, 

That  in  a  boundless  universe 

Is  boundless  better,  boundless  worse. 

'  Think  you  this  mould  of  hopes  and  fears 
Could  find  no  statelier  than  his  peers 
In  yonder  hundred  million  spheres  ? ' 

It  spake,  moreover,  in  my  mind : 

'  Tho'  thou  wert  scattered  to  the  wind, 

Yet  is  there  plenty  of  the  kind.' 

Then  did  my  response  clearer  fall : 
'  No  compound  of  this  earthly  ball 
Is  like  another,  all  in  all.' 

To  which  he  answered  scoffingly : 
'  Good  soul!  .suppose  I  grant  it  thee, 
Who'll  weep  for  thy  deficiency?' 


The  Stanza  of  'The  Palace  of  Art: 

In  lines  sent  with  the  poem  to  a  friend,  the  poet 
calls  it  '  a  sort  of  allegory '  ...  of  a  soul, 

A  sinful  soul  possessed  of  many  gifts,   .   .   . 
That  did  love  Beauty  only,  (Beauty  seen 
In  all  varieties  of  mould  and  mind,) 
And  Knowledge  for  its  Beauty  ;  or  if  Good, 


8o  SOAfE    OF   TENNYSO.V'S  STANZAS. 

Good  only  for  its  Beauty,  seeing  not 
Tiuit  Beauty,  Good,  and  Knowledge,  are  three  sisters 
That  dote  upon  each  other,  friends  to  man, 
Living  together  under  the  same  roof. 
And  never  can  be  sundered  without  tears. 
And  he  that  shuts  Love  out,  in  turn  shall  he 
Shut  out  from  Love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness.   .   .  . 

The  lordly  pleasure-house,  the  palace  of  art,  which 
this  beauty-worshipping  Soul  built  for  herself,  was, 
she  says,  full  of  great  rooms  and  small,  all  various, 
each  a  perfect  whole  from  living  Nature,  fit  for  every 
mood  and  change  of  her  still  soul.  Some  .were  hung 
with  arras  (tapestry),  in  which  were  inwoven  land- 
scapes, marine  views,  sacred,  legendary,  and  mytho- 
logical designs,  etc. 

These  pictures  constitute  a  prominent  feature  of 
the  poem  ;  and  it  is  evident  that  the  poet  adoj^ted  the 
stanza  employed  by  reason  of  its  pictorial  capabilities. 
It  is  a  close  stanza,  having  an  abrupt  but,  at  the  same 
time,  a  strangely  reposeful  cadence.  It  consists  of 
four  xa  verses :  the  first  is  pentameter,  the  second, 
tetrameter,  the  third,  pentameter,  again,  and  the 
fourth,  trimeter.  The  rhyme-scheme  is  alnib.  Now, 
in  quatrains,  consisting  of  verses  of  equal  length,  the 
rhymes  being  alternate,  the  rhyme-enforcement  of 
the  third  and  the  fourth  verses,  is  about  equal,  imless 
one  of  the  rhymes  be  on  a  broader  vowel  than  the 
other.  In  the  stanza  before  us  the  poet  has  secured 
an  extra  enforcement  of  the  final  ver.se  by  making  it 
shorter  by  two  feet  than  the  first  and  third,  and 
shorter  by  one  foot  than  the  second.      Its  exceptional 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  gl 

length  alone  enforces  it ;  and  being  shorter,  the 
rhyme-emphasis  is  increased,  because  the  rhyming 
words  are  brought  closer  together.  It  is  felt  that  it 
would  not  have  served  the  poet's  purpose  to  have 
enforced  it  by  making  it  longer  than  the  other  verses  ; 
for  a  sweeping  close  would  thus  have  been  imparted 
to  the  stanza,  inconsistent  with  the  repose  of  his 
pictures,  and  with  the  general  repose  of  the  poem. 

But  to  say  thus  much  is  to  say  very  little  indeed  of 
this  remarkable  stanza.  The  melody  of  individual 
verses,  the  harmony  which  blends  them  into  stanzas, 
and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  poem,  belong  almost 
exclusively  to  the  domain  of  feeling,  and  are  quite 
beyond  analysis.  But  the  subtle  adaptation  of  the 
stanza  to  a  pictorial  purpose  must  be  distinctly  felt 
by  every  susceptible  reader.  Tennyson  has  made  it 
forever  as  peculiarly  his  own  as  he  has  made  the 
stanza  of  '  In  Memoriam.'  No  future  poet,  certainly, 
will  ever  use  them  so  organically. 

'The  stanza  of  "The  Palace  of  Art,'"  says  Peter 
Baync,  '  is  novel,  and  it  is  only  by  degrees  that  its 
exquisite  adaptation  to  the  style  and  thought  of  the 
poem  is  perceived.  The  ear  instinctively  demands, 
in  the  second  and  fourth  lines,  a  body  of  sound  not 
much  less  than  that  of  the  first  and  third ;  but  in 
Tennyson's  stanza,  the  fall  in  the  fourth  line  is  com- 
plete ;  the  body  of  sound  in  the  second  and  fourth 
lines  is  not  nearly  sufficient  to  balance  that  in  the 
first  and  third ;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  the  ear 
dwells  on  the  alternate  lines,  especially  on  the  fourth, 
stopping  there  to  listen  to  the  whole  verse,  to  gather 
up  its  whole  sound  and  sense.     I  do  not  know  whether 


82  SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS. 

Tennyson  ever  contemplated  scientifically  the  efifect 
of  this.  I  should  think  it  far  more  likely,  and  indica- 
tive of  far  higher  genius,  that  he  did  not.  But  no 
means  could  be  conceived  for  setting  forth,  to  such 
advantage,  those  separate  pictures,  "  each  a  perfect 
whole,"  which  constitute  so  great  a  portion  of  the 
poem.' 

The  following  are  some  of  the  picture-stanzas,  '  each 
a  perfect  whole  ' : 

One  seemed  all  dark  and  red  —  a  tract  of  sand, 

And  some  one  pacing  there  alone. 
Who  paced  forever  in  a  glimmering  land. 

Lit  with  a  low  large  moon. 

One  showed  an  iron  coa.st  and  angry  waves. 

You  seemed  to  hear  them  ciiml)  and  fall 
And  roar  rock-thwarted  under  i)cllowing  caves, 

Beneath  the  windy  wall. 

And  one,  a  full-fed  river  winding  slow 

By  herds  upon  an  endless  plain, 
The  ragged  rims  of  thunder  brooding  low, 

With  shadow-streaks  of  rain. 

And  one,  the  reapers  at  their  sultry  toil. 

In  front  they  bound  the  sheaves.      Behind 
Were  realms  of  upland,  prodigal  in  oil. 

And  hoary  to  the  wind. 

And  one,  a  foreground  black  with  stones  and  slags. 

Beyond  a  line  of  heights,  and  higher 
All  barred  with  long  white  cloud  the  .scornful  crags. 

And  highest,  snow  and  fire. 

And  one,  an  English  home,  —  gray  twilight  poured 

On  dewy  pastures,  dewy  trees. 
Softer  than  sleep  —  all  things  in  order  stored, 

A  haunt  of  ancient  Peace. 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS.  83 

Or  the  maid-mother  by  a  crucifix, 

In  tracts  of  pasture  sunny-warm. 
Beneath  branch-work  of  costly  sardonyx 

Sat  smiling,  babe  in  arm. 

Or  in  a  clear-walled  city  on  the  sea. 

Near  gilded  organ-pipes,  her  hair 
Wound  with  white  roses,  slept  St.  Cecily  ; 

An  angel  looked  at  her. 

Or  thronging  all  one  porch  of  Paradise, 

A  group  of  Houris  bowed  to  see 
The  dying  Islamite,  with  hands  and  eyes 

That  said,  we  wait  for  thee. 

Or  Mythic  Uther's  deeply-wounded  son  ^ 

In  some  fair  space  of  sloping  greens 
Lay,  dozing  in  the  vale  of  Avalon, 

And  watched  by  weeping  queens. 

Or  hollowing  one  hand  against  his  ear. 

To  list  a  footfall,  ere  he  saw 
The  wood-nymph,  stayed  the  Ausonian  king  2  to  hear 

Of  wisdom  and  of  law.^ 

Or  over  hills  with  peaky  tops  engrailed,* 

And  many  a  tract  of  palm  and  rice. 
The  throne  of  Indian  Cama  ^  slowly  sailed 

A  summer  fanned  with  spice. 

Or  sweet  Europa's  mantle  blew  unclasped 

From  off  her  shoulder  backward  borne  : 
From  one  hand  drooped  a  crocus :  one  hand  grasped 

The  mild  bull's  golden  horn. 

It  is  well  known  that  Tennyson  has  been  a  deep 
student  of  the  art  of  form  and  color.     But  if  this 

1  King  Arthur.  ^  Numa  Pompilius. 

»  /.<•.  from  the  Nymph  Egeria.  *  Indented. 

&  The  Hindu  god  of  Love,  son  of  Vischnu,  represented  as  ridinj^  on 
the  back  of  a  parrot. 


84 


SOME    OF   TENNYSOX'S   STANZAS. 


were  not  known,  it  would   be   naturally  inferred  by 
any  appreciative  reader  of  '  The  Palace  of  Art.' 

The  student  of  verse  should  memorize  these  pic- 
ture-stanzas, and  often  repeat  them,  if  he  would 
finally  appreciate  their  subtler  merits. 

The  Stanzas  of  '  The  Daisy  '  and  '  To  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice: 

The  stanzas  of  the  two  graceful  little  poems,  '  The 
Daisy'  and  'To  the  Rev.  Y.  1).  Maurice,'  are  inter- 
esting.    The  following  are  their  first  stanzas: 

O  Love,  what  hours  were  thine  and  mine. 
In  land.s  of  palm  and  .soutliern  pine; 

In  lands  of  i)alm,  of  oranj.;e-l)lo.s.som. 
Of  olive,  aloe,  and  maize  and  vine. 


Come,  when  no  graver  care.s  employ, 
God-father,  come  and  see  your  boy  : 

Your  ijre.sence  will  be  sun  in  winter. 
Making  the  little  one  leap  for  joy. 

The  first  three  verses  of  each  are4;rrt,  the  third 
verse  having  an  additional  light  syllable.  The  rhyme- 
schemes  are  the  same  in  both  :  the  first,  second,  and 
fourth  verses  rhyme  together.  The  third  verse  is 
non-rhyming.  A  strong  rhyme-emphasis  consequently 
falls  on  the  last  verse  of  each  stanza,  an  emphasis 
not  reduced  by  any  other  rhyme.  The  last  verse  of 
the  stanza  of  'The  Daisy'  is  further  enforced,  and  a 
playful  effect  is  imparted  to  it,  by  the  penultimate 
xxa  ;  and  the  enforcement  of  the  last  verse  of  the 
.stanza  of  the  other  poem,  and  the  jilayful  effect,  arc 
carried  still    further,  by    its  being  composed  ol   two 


SOME    OF   TENNYSON'S  STANZAS. 


85 


axx  and  an  axa  feet.  The  additional  light  syllabic  of 
the  third  verse  of  the  stanza  of  each  poem  impresses 
as  an  anticipation  of  the  rhythmical  dance  in  the  last 

verse. 

Tennyson  always  adheres  very  strictly  to  his  verse- 
schemes,  whatever  they  are,  and  never  departs  from 
them  unless  there  be  a  very  special  emotional  motive 
for  a  departure.  In  these  two  poems  there  is  no 
departure  whatever,  and  the  skill  shown  in  strictly 
maintaining,  throughout,  the  exceptional  feet,  in  the 
final  verses  of  the  stanzas,  is  admirable,  especially  in 
those  of  the  poem  'To  the  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice.' 

The  following  are  the  final  verses  of  the  stanzas  of 
the  latter  poem.  The  two  axx  and  the  axa  feet  come 
out  in  each  with  an  apparent  spontaneity: 

Making  the  little  one  leap  for  joy. 
Thunder  '  Anathema,'  friend  at  you. 
(Take  it  and  come)  to  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
Close  to  the  ridge  of  a  noble  down. 
Garrulous  under  a  roof  of  pine. 
Tumbles  a  breaker  on  chalk  and  sand. 
Glimmer  away  to  the  lonely  deep. 
Emperor,  Ottoman,  which  shall  win. 
Dear  to  the  man  that  is  dear  to  God. 
Valor  and  charity  more  and  more. 
Crocus,  anemone,  violet. 
Many  and  many  a  happy  year. 

For  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  playful  grace,  '  The 
Daisy '    is    unsurpassed.     The    beauty  of   the    three 


86    •  SOME    OF  TENNYSON'S  STANZAS. 

Stanzas,  which  are  somewhat  of  a  higher  strain,  de- 
voted to  Milan  Cathedral  and  the  outlook  from  its 
roofs,  could  hardly  any  further  go.  The  brilliant 
rhyme-vowel  of  the  first  stanza  is  very  effective  : 

0  Milan,  O  the  chanting  quires. 
The  giant  windows'  blazoned  fires, 

The  height,  the  space,  the  gloom,  the  glory! 
A  mount  of  marl)Ie,  a  hundred  spires! 

1  climbed  the  roofs  at  break  of  day  ; 
Sun-smitten  Ali)s  before  me  lay. 

I  stood  among  tlie  silent  statues. 
And  statued  pinnacles,  mute  as  they. 

How  faintly-flushed,  how  phantom-fair. 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there 

A  thousand  sliadowy-pencilled  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air. 


VII. 

THE   SPENSERIAN    STANZA. 

THE  Spenserian  stanza  calls  for  a  special  presen- 
tation and  analysis,  as  it  is  one  of  the  noblest 
of  stanzas  employed  in  English  poetry,  and  includes 
within  itself  the  greatest  variety  of  the  elements  of 
poetic  form. 

No  English  poets  have  surpassed  Spenser,  in  a 
melodious  marshalling  of  words.  The  following 
stanzas,  descriptive  of  the  Bower  of  Bliss,  have  been 
frequently  cited  in  illustration  of  this : 

Eftsoones  they  heard  a  most  melodious  sound,  ■^ 

Of  all  that  mote  delight  a  daintie  eare, 
Such  as  attonce  might  not  on  living  ground, 

Save  in  this  Paradise,  be  heard  elsewhere  : 
Right  hard  it  was  for  wight  which  did  it  heare, 

To  read  what  manner  musicke  that  mote  bee ;  c 
For  all  that  pleasing  is  to  living  eare 

Was  there  consorted  in  one  harmonee  ; 

Birdes,  voices,  instruments,  windes,  waters,  all  agree : 

The  joyous  birdes,  shrouded  in  chearefull  shade 

Their  notes  unto  the  voice  attempred  sweet ; 
Th'  Angelicall  soft  trembling  voyces  made 

To  th'  instruments  divine  respondence  meet ; 

The  silver  sounding  instnmients  did  meet 
With  the  base  murmure  of  the  waters  fall ; 

The  waters  fall  with  difference  discreet, 

87 


88  THE   SPENSER/AN  STANZA. 

Now  soft,  now  loud,  unto  the  wind  did  call ; 
The  gentle  warbling  wind  low  answered  to  all. 

—  3.  la.  70,  71.' 

As  another  example,  take  the  following  stanza 
from  the  description  of  the  abode  of  Morpheus : 

And  more  to  lulle  him  in  his  slumber  soft, 

A  trickling  streame  from  high  rock  tuml)ling  downe. 

And  ever-drizling  raine  upon  the  loft, 

Mixt  with  a  murmuring  winde,  much  like  the  sowne 
Of  swarming  Hecs  did  cast  him  in  a  swowne. 

No  other  noyse,  nor  peoples  troublous  cryes. 
As  still  are  wont  V  annoy  the  walled  towne. 

Migiit  there  i)c  heard;  hut  carelesse  Quiet  lyes    • 

Wrapt  in  eternall  silence  farre  from  enimyes. 

—  I.  t.  4'. 

The  Spenserian  stanza  is  composed  of  nine  verses, 
eight  of  them  being  t^xa,  or  heroic,  and  the  ninth  6xa, 
or  an  alexandrine.  It  has  been  common  with  Spenser's 
critics  to  speak  of  his  stanza  as  being  the  Italian  ottava 
rima,  with  the  alexandrine  added.  John  Hughes,  who 
edited  Si)enser's  Works,  with  Life,  etc.,  in  1715,  says: 
'As  to  the  stanza  in  which  the  "Faerie  Queene  "  is 
written,  though  the  author  cannot  be  commended 
for  his  choice  of  it  [he  does  not  tell  us  why],  yet  it 
is  much  more  harmonious  in  its  kind  than  the  heroic 
verse  of  that  age ;  it  is  almost  the  same  with  what 
the  Italians  call  their  ottnva  riuia,  which  is  u.sed 
both  by  Ariosto  and  Tasso,  but  improved  by  Spenser, 
with  the  addilif)n  of  a  line  more  in  the  rld'^.-,  of  the 

'  In  locating  stan/as,  quoted  from  the  •Faerie  Queene,'  the  first 
number  will  refer  to  the  l>ook,  the  scconil  to  the  canto,  and  the  third 
number,  ur  numbers,  tu  the  stanza  or  ttanzas. 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


89 


length  of  our  alexandrines.'  When  he  says  'it  is 
almost  the  same  with  what  the  Italians  call  the 
ottava  rima,'  he  means,  as  he  himself  shows,  that  it 
differs  from  it  only  in  having  the  additional  line. 
And  Thomas  Warton,  in  his  '  Observations  on  the 
Faerie  Queene,'  says,  '  Although  Spenser's  favorite, 
Chaucer,  made  use  of  the  ottava  rivia,  or  stanza  of 
eight  lines,  yet  it  seems  probable  that  Spenser  was 
principally  induced  to  adopt  it,  with  the  addition  of 
one  line,  from  the  practice  of  Ariosto  and  Tasso,  the 
most  fashionable  poets  of  his  age.  But  Spenser,  in 
choosing  this  stanza,  did  not  sufficiently  consider  the 
genius  of  the  English  language  which  does  not  easily 
fall  into  a  frequent  repetition  of  the  same  termina- 
tion ;  a  circumstance  natural  to  the  Italian,  which 
deals  largely  in  identical  cadences.' 

Here  we  have  a  number  of  misstatements.  Both 
Hughes  and  Warton  regarded  the  Spenserian  stanza 
as  the  ottava  riuia  of  the  Italian  poets,  with  an 
extra  line ;  and  Warton  makes  the  additional  mis- 
statement that  the  ottava  riina  was  used  by  Chaucer. 
Now  the  eight  verses  to  which  Spenser  added  a  ninth, 
are  not  the  ottava  rinia  at  all,  for  the  reason  that  they 
are  differently  bound  together  by  the  rhyme-scheme, 
and  that  makes  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  We 
could  as  well  say  that  any  stanza  consisting  of  four 
^xa  verses,  is  the  same  as  the  stanza  of  Tennyson's 
'In  Memoriam.'  In  the  ottava  ritna  there  are  but 
two  rhymes  in  the  first  six  lines,  the  rhyme-scheme 
being:  abababcc.  Such  a  rhyme-scheme,  especially 
in  the  Italian,  with -its  great  similarity  of  endings, 
is  '  too  monotonously  iterative ; '  and  the  rhyming  coup- 


QO  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 

let   at  the   close    seems,    as   James    Russell    Lowell 
expresses  it,  'to  put  on  the  brakes  with  a  jar.' 

Fairfax  employs  the  ottava  rima  in  his  translation 
of  Tasso's  'Jerusalem  Delivered';  and  j:jreat  as  is  the 
poetical  merit  of  this  translation,  the  reader  soon  tires 
of  the  rhyme-scheme,  the  avera<;e  resonance  of  which 
is  illustrated  by  the  following  stanza.  Where  the 
vowels  of  the  rhyminpj  words  are  all  brij^ht  or  broad, 
the  resonance  is  still  greater  than  in  this  stanza : 

Her  cheeks  on  which  this  streaming  nectar  fell. 
Stilled  thro'  the  limbeck  of  her  diamond  eyes, 

The  roses  wliite  and  red  resembled  well, 
Whereon  the  roary  May-dew  sprinkled  lies. 

When  the  fair  moon  first  bliishcth  from  her  cell. 
And  l)reathcth  balm  from  opened  Paradise  ; 

Thus  sighed,  thus  mourned,  thus  wept  this  lovely  queen, 

And  in  each  drop  bathM  a  grace  unseen. 

—  Ilk.  iv.  75. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  the  rhyme  in  the  con- 
cluding couplet  is  on  the  same  vowel  as  is  one  of  the 
rhymes  in  the  sestet.  In  such  case,  the  ear  is  still 
more  pestered  with  identity  of  sound.  The  following 
stanzas,  and  there  are  many  such,  afford  examples  of 
this: 

It  was  the  time  when  'gainst  the  breaking  Day 
Rebellious  iN'ight  yet  strove,  and  still  rcjjined  ; 

For  in  the  Kast  appeared  the  Morning  gniy. 

And  yet  .some  lamps  in  Jove's  high  I'alace  siiined. 

When  to  Mount  Olivet  he  took  his  way, 

And  .saw  (as  round  about  his  Kycs  he  twined) 

Night's  shadows  hence,  from  thence  the  Morning's  shine, 

This  briglit,  that  dark  ;  that  Earthly,  this  Divine. 

—  Uk.  xviii.  bl.  la. 


THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


91 


Such  as  on  Stages  play,  such  as  we  see 

The  Dryads  painted,  when  wild  Satyrs  love, 

Whose  Arms  half  naked  ;  Locks  untruss^d  be, 
With  Buskins  laced  on  their  Legs  above, 

And  silken  Robes  tuckt  short  above  their  knee ; 
Such  seemed  the  Silvian  Daughters  of  this  Grove, 

Save  that  in  stead  of  Shafts  and  Boughs  of  Tree, 

She  bore  a  Lute,  a  Harp,  or  Cittern  she. 

—  Bk.  xviii.  st.  27. 

In  the  last  stanza,  the  rhyme  of  the  concluding 
couplet  is  a  continuation  (by  chance,  no  doubt)  of 
the  rhyme  of  verses  i,  3,  and  5.'  There  are  many 
other  stanzas  of  this  kind.  But  the  poet,  and  not 
the  stanza,  is  here  responsible. 

The  Epilogue  to  Milton's  '  Lycidas '  is  strictly 
fashioned  after  the  ottava  riina  of  the  Italians,  except 
that  the  rhymes  are  not  female  rhymes.  Such  rhymes 
would  not  suit  the  tone  of  the  poem. 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  gray : 

He  touched  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills,^ 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay  :  ^ 

And  now  the  sun  had  stretched  out  all  the  hills, ^ 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay. 

At  last  he  rose  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue : 

To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new. 

The  Elegy  having  come  to  an  end,  the  ottava  rima 
is  employed,  with  an  admirable  artistic  effect,  to  mark 

^In  this  lay  '  the  tender  stops  of  various  quills'  had  been  touched; 
i.e.  there  had  been  changes  of  mood  and  minute  changes  of  metre  in 
it  (Masson). 

2  '  Doric  lay ' :  pastoral  elegy ;  so  called  because  the  Greek  pastoral 
poets,  Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus  wrote  in  the  Doric  dialect. 

3  i.e.  their  shadows;  'majoresque  cadunt  altis  de  montibus  umbta: ' 
(Virgil's  Ed.  i.  84). 


92 


THE   SPENSERIAX  STAXZA. 


off  the  Epilogue  in  which  Milton  drops  the  character  of 
a  bereaved  shepherd,  and  speaks  in  his  own  person. 

Byron  was  fond  of  the  ottava  rima,  and  wrote  in 
this  stanza  'Don  Juan'  (1976  stanzas),  '  Beppo ' 
(99  stanzas),  '  Morgante  Maggiore'  (86  stanzas),  and 
the  'Vision  oi  Judgment'  (106  stanzas);  in  all, 
2267  stanzas,  comprising  18,136  xa  pentameter 
verses.  The  demands  which  it  makes  on  the  rhym- 
ing capabilities  of  the  language,  he  meets  with  a 
surprising  facility.  Those  capabilities  are  more 
fully  exhibited  in  'Don  Juan'  than  in  any  other 
production  in  English  poetry. 

To  return  to  the  Spenserian  stanza  : 

If  Spenser  was  indebted  to  any  one  for  the  eight 
lines  of  his  stanza,  he  was  indebted  to  his  master 
Chaucer,  who,  in  the  '  Monk's  Tale,'  uses  an  eight- 
line  stanza  with  a  rhyme-scheme  identical  with  that 
of  the  eight  heroic  lines  of  the  Spenserian  stanza, 
that  scheme  being  ababbcbc. 

Chaucer  also  uses  this  stanza  in  his  'ABC  (a 
Hymn  to  the  Virgin),  in  '  L' Envoy  de  Chaucer  a  liuk- 
ton,'  and  in  '  Ballade  de  Vilage  sauns  Peynture.' 
The  Envoy  to  his  'Conipleynte  of  a  Loveres  Lyfe  ' 
(or,  the  Complaint  of  the  lilack  Knight)  is  also  in 
this  stanza. 

The  following  is  a  stanza  from  the  '  Monk's  Tale," 
according  to  the  Ellesmere  text : 

All.us,  fortunt;!  ^lic  thai  wliylom  \v;us 
Drcdful  to  kiii^^cs  and  to  i-mpcrourcs, 

Now  ^aurelh '  al  tlio  prplc  on  hir,  alla.s! 

And  she  that  helmed  was  in  starke  stoures,* 

'  Gaurcth  :  gautk.  •  Starke  stuurcs  :   tn'tre  ronttsts. 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  q^ 

And  wan  by  force  tounes  stronge  and  toures, 
Shal  on  hir  heed  now  were  a  vitremyte  ;  ^ 

And  she  that  bar  the  ceptre  ful  of  floures 
Shal  bere  a  distaf,  hir  cost  for  to  quyte.'- 

By  this  rhyme-scheme,  the  couplet,  instead  of 
being  at  the  end,  is  brought  in  the  middle,  where 
it  serves  to  bind  together  the  two  quatrains.  That 
is,  in  fact,  what  the  eight  verses  are,  namely,  two 
quatrians,  with  the  last  line  of  the  first  and  the  first 
line  of  the  second  rhyming  together.  To  these 
the  poet  added  as  a  supplementary  harmony,  and 
in  order  to  impart  a  fine  sweeping  close  to  his 
stanza,  the  alexandrine,  making  it  rhyme  with  the 
second   and    fourth  verses  of   the   second  quatrain. 

James  Russell  Lowell,  in  his  '  Essay  on  Spenser,' 
happily  remarks,  '  In  the  alexandrine,  the  melody 
of  one  stanza  seems  forever  longing  and  feeling  for- 
ward after  that  which  is  to  follow.  There  is  no 
ebb  and  flow  in  his  metre  more  than  on  the  shores 
of  the  Adriatic,  but  wave  follows  wave  with  equable 
gainings  and  recessions,  the  one  sliding  back  in 
fluent  music  to  be  mingled  with  and  carried  for- 
ward by  the  next.  In  all  this  there  is  soothingness, 
indeed,  but  no  slumberous  monotony  ;  for  Spenser 
was  no  mere  metrist,  but  a  great  composer.  By 
the  variety  of  his  pauses  —  now  at  the  close  of  the 
first  or  second  foot,  now  of  the  third,  and  again  of 
the  fourth  —  he  gives  spirit  and  energy  to  a  meas- 

^  Vitremyte :  '  I  suppose  it  to  be  a  coined  word,  formed  on  the 
Latin  vitream  mitram,  expressing,  literally,  a  glass  head-dress,  in  com- 
plete contrast  to  a  strong  helmet.'  —  Ski-:at. 

"^  Ilir  cost  for  to  quyte:   to  pay  for  her  expenses. 


94 


THE    SPEXSERIAN  STAXZA. 


lire  whose  tendency  it  certainly  is  to  become  lan- 
guorous. He  knew  how  to  make  it  rapid  and 
passionate  at  need,  ..." 

The  following  exposition  of  the  rhyme-scheme 
addresses  to  the  eye  the  evolution  of  the  rhyme- 
emphasis,  which  culminates  in  the  alexandrine : 


I a 

2 b 

3 <t 

4 b 

5 b 


6 c 

7 f> 

8 c 

9 ^ 


The  rhyme  which  falls  on  the  seventh  verse  is  a 
third  rhyme,  with  a  resultant  accumulated  rhyme- 
emphasis;  and  the  rhyme  which  falls  on  the  alexan- 
drine is  a  second  rhyme,  but  the  rhyme-emphasis  is 
increased  by  reason  of  its  being  an  adjacent  rhyme. 
The  alexandrine  receives  additional  emphasis  from 
its  exceptional  length.  The  jjoet,  also,  frequently, 
perhaps  generally,  imparts  to  it  a  special  vowel  and 
consonant  melody,  cmjiloys  it  for  expressing  what- 
ever is  lengthened  out,  or  is  of  a  continuous  char- 
acter, and  renders  it  in  various  ways  exceptionally 
vigorous. 

The  alexandrine  of  the  following  stanza  affords  a 
good  illustration  of  this.  (The  poet  comjxires  the 
vile  brood  which  issued  from  the  maw  of  the  mon.ster 
Error,  after  the  Red  Cross  Knight  had  .slain  her  in 
her  den,  and  which  beset  him  on  every  side,  to  gnats 
molesting  a  shepherd,  in  the  evening,  while  watching 
his  tiock.) 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


95 


As  gentle  shepheard  in  sweete  eventide, 

When  ruddy  Phebus  gins  to  welke  in  west, 
High  on  an  hill,  his  flock  to  vewen  wide, 

Markes  which  doe  byte  their  hasty  supper  best ; 

A  cloud  of  cumbrous  gnattes  doe  him  molest, 
All  striving  to  infixe  their  feeble  stinges. 

That  from  their  noyance  he  no  where  can  rest ; 

But  with  his  clownish  hands  their  tender  wings 

He  brusheth  oft,  and  oft  doth  mar  their  murmurings. 

—  I.I.  23. 

To  the  regular  enforcements  received  by  the  alex- 
andrine from  rhyme  and  extra  length,  are  added 
those  of  alliteration  and  the  most  suggestive  melody. 
First,  there  is  the  effect  of  the  repetition  of  *  oft,'  and 
the  reversed  order  of  the  two  verbs  with  the  qualify- 
ing adverb  (brusheth  oft,  and  oft  doth  mar)  ;  then  the 
transition  from  the  vowel  in  *  mar,'  through  the  vowel 
in  *  their '  (=  e  +  u),  to  the  two  li's  in  '  murmurings,' 
which  effect  is  heightened  by  the  reduplication  of  the 
syllable  '  mur ' : 

He  brusheth  oft,  and  oft  doth  mar  their  murmurings. 

The  climacteric  vowel  is  the  broad  a  in  '  mar,' 
which  suggests  the  dash  of  the  '  clownish  hands,' 
into  the  '  cloud  of  cumbrous  gnattes '  ;  and  the 
muffled  cadence  of  the  verse  suggests  their  retreat. 
The  entire  stanza  is  a  wonder  of  melody  and  har- 
mony, culminating  in  the  alexandrine. 

Take  it,  for  all  in  all,  it  is,  perhaps,  the  most  per- 
fect stanza  in  the  '  Faerie  Oueene.' 

The  following  are  good  examples  of  alexandrines 
to  which  special  enforcements  have  been  imparted. 
The  entire  stanza  to  which  each  belongs  should  be 
read,  in  order  to  appreciate  its  full  effect. 


96 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


—  I.  5-  a8. 


A  streame  of  cole-black  blood  forth  gush6d  from  her  corse. 
Whose  bridle  ninij  with  golden  bels  and  bosses  brave. 

—  I.  a.  13. 

adowne  his  courser's  side 
The  red  bloud  trickling  staind  the  way,  as  he  did  ride. 

—  I.  a.  14. 

the  Hashing  fier  Hies, 
As  from  a  forge,  out  of  their  burning  shields  ; 
And  streames  of  purple  bloud  new  die  tiie  verdant  fields. 

—  I.  a.  17. 

He  pluct  a  bough  ;  out  of  whose  rift  there  came 

Smal  drops  of  gory  bloud,  that  trickled  down  the  same. 

—  1.  a.  30. 

Wiiom  all  the  people  followe  with  great  glee. 

Shouting,  and  clapi)ing  all  their  hands  on  hight. 

That  all  the  ayre  it  fills,  and  flies  to  heaven  bright. 

— 1.5. 16. 

their  bridles  they  would  champ, 
And  trampling  the  fine  element  would  fiercely  ramp. 

High  over  hills  and  lowe  adowne  tiie  dale. 

She  wandred  many  a  wood,  and  measured  many  a  vale. 

—  1.7.  a8. 

Athwart  his  brest  a  bauldrick  brave  he  wore. 

That  shind,  like  twinkling  stars,  with  stones  most  pretious  rare. 

—  I.  7.  39. 

Large  streames  of  blood  out  of  tiie  truncked  slock 

Forth  gushed,  like  fresh  water  streame  from  riven  rocke, 

—  I.  8.  10. 

The  neighbor  woods  arownd  with  hollow  nuuniur  ring. 

—  I.  8.  II. 

Who,  all  enraged  with  smart  and  frantick  yrc, 

Came  hurtling  in  full  Hers,  and  forst  the  knight  retire. 

—  I.  8.  17. 

Doth  roll  adowne  the  rocks  and  fall  with  fearefull  drift. 

—  1.8.  77. 

They  let  her  goc  at  will,  and  wander  waics  unknowne. 

—  I.  8.  4y. 

And  all  al)out  it  wandring  ghostes  did  wayle  and  howle. 

—  I.  9.  33- 
With  in(  I )  note  her  lowd  salutes  the  mounting  larkc. 

—  I.  II.  51. 

So  downe  he  fell,  and  like  an  heaped  mountaine  lay. 

—  I.  II.  54- 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


97 


As  fayre  Diana  in  fresii  somers  day 

Beholdes  her  nymphes  enraunged  in  shady  wood, 

Some  wrestle,  some  do  run,  some  bathe  in  christall  flood, 

—  I.   12.   7. 

At  last  they  heard  a  home  that  shrilled  cleare 

Throughout  the  wood  that  ecchoed  againe, 

And  made  the  forrest  ring,  as  it  would  rive  in  twaine. 

2.  3.   20. 

The  mortall  Steele  despiteously  entayld 

Deepe  in  their  flesh,  quite  through  the  yron  walles. 

That  a  large  purple  streame  adowne  their  giambeux  ^  falles. 

—  2.  6.  29. 

That  is  the  river  of  Cocytus  deepe. 

In  which  full  many  soules  do  endlesse  wayle  and  weepe. 

—  2. 7. 56. 

That  all  the  fields  resounded  with  the  ruefuU  cry. 

-2.8.3. 
He  built  by  art  upon  the  glassy  See 

A  bridge  of  bras,  whose  sound  hevens  thunder  seemed  to  bee. 

—  2. 10. 73. 

They  reard  a  most  outrageous  dreadfuU  yelling  cry, 

—  2.  II.  17. 

Like  a  great  water  flood,  that  tombling  low 
From  the  high  mountaines,  threates  to  overflow 
With  sudden  fury  all  the  fertile  playne. 
And  the  sad  husbandman's  long  hope  doth  throw 
Adowne  the  streame,  and  all  his  vowes  make  vayne ; 

Nor  bounds  nor  banks  his  headlong  mine  may  sustayne, 

—  2.  II.  18. 

the  Boteman  strayt 
Held  on  his  course  with  stayed  stedfastnesse, 
Ne  ever  shroncke,  ne  ever  sought  to  bayt 
His  tyrfed  armes  for  toylesome  wearinesse. 
But  with  his  oares  did  sweepe  the  watry  wildernesse. 


Till,  sadly  soucing  on  the  sandy  shore, 

He  tombled  on  an  heape,  and  wallowd  in  his  gore. 


■  2.  12.  29. 


—  3.  4.  16. 


And  in  the  midst  a  little  river  plaide 

Emongst  the  pumy  stones,  which  seemd  to  plaine 

With  gentle  murmure  that  his  cours  they  did  restraine. 

—  3-  5-  39- 

*  Leggings,  greaves. 


98 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


Ne  ever  rests  he  in  tranquillity, 

The  roring  billowes  beat  his  bowre  so  boystrously. 

Like '  a  discoloured  snake,  whose  hidden  snares 

Through  the  greene  gras  his  long  bright  burnisht  back  declares, 

—  3.  II.  28. 
his  shield, 

Which  bore  the  Sunne  brode  blaztjd  in  a  golden  field, 

—  5-  3-  »4- 

Sometimes,  but  rarely,  and  chiefly  in  the  later 
books,  the  poet  uses  double  rhymes  in  the  sixth, 
eighth,  and  ninth  verses,  and  the  rhyme-emphasis 
falling  on  the  alexandrine  is,  in  consequence,  very 
much  increased,  as  in  the  following  examples  : 

So  downe  the  clifFe  the  wretched  Gyant  tumbled  ; 

His  battred  ballances  in  pecces  lay. 

His  timbred  bones  all  broken  rudely  rumbled  : 

So  was  the  high-aspyring  with  huge  ruine  humbled. 

—  J.  a.  50. 

There  Marincll  great  deeds  of  armes  did  shew. 

And  through  the  thickest  like  a  Lyon  flew. 

Rashing  off  iiclmcs,  and  ryving  plates  asonder. 

That  every  one  his  daunger  did  eschew  : 

So  terribly  his  dreadfull  strokes  did  thonder. 

That  all  men  stood  amazed  and  at  his  might  did  wonder. 

-  5-  3-  8 

In  the  following  it  is  still  stronger,  by  reason  of 
the  broader  vowel  in  the  rhyming  words : 

Full  many  deeds  of  amies  that  day  were  donne. 

And  many  knights  unhorst,  and  many  wounded, 

As  fortune  fell ;  yet  little  lost  or  wonne ; 

But  all  that  day  the  greatest  prayse  redounded 

To  Marinell,  whose  name  the  Heralds  loud  resounded. 

-5.3.6. 

Such  rhyme-emphasis,  such  a  '  vol<5e  de  resonnance,' 
is  too  stunning,  and  could  not  be  borne  very  long. 

'  I'M.  1596;    Like  to  a  (cd.  1590). 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  gg 

See,  also,  5-  3-  9 ;  5-  4-  lo  ;  5-  4-  1 5  ;  5-  5-  37 ;  5-  > 
40  ;  5.  6.  14 ;  5.  7.  29 ;  5.  7.  32  ;  5.  7.  42  ;  5.  8.  7 ;  5. 
9.  9;   5.  9.  10;   5.  9.  24;   5.  10.  7;   5.  II.  50. 

Attention  should  be  called  to  another  point  in  the 
passage  quoted  from  Warton.  He  says  :  '  Spenser, 
in  choosing  this  stanza,  did  not  sufficiently  consider 
the  genius  of  the  English  language,  which  does  not 
easily  fall  into  a  frequent  repetition  of  the  same  ter- 
mination ;  a  circumstance  natural  to  the  Italian,  which 
deals  largely  in  identical  cadences.'  To  this  objection 
it  may  be  replied,  in  the  words  of  Beattie,  that  the 
English  language,  '  from  its  irregularity  of  inflection, 
and  number  of  monosyllables,  abounds  in  diversified 
terminations,  and  consequently  renders  our  poetry 
susceptible  of  an  endless  variety  of  legitimate  rhymes.' 
In  Italian  poetry,  the  great  majority  of  the  rhymes 
are  female  rhymes,  that  is,  rhymes  in  which  two 
syllables,  an  accented  and  an  unaccented  one,  corre- 
spond at  the  end  of  each  line.  The  unaccented 
syllable  will  sometimes  be  0  all  through  the  stanza, 
sometimes  a,  sometimes  e,  sometimes  /.  The  conse- 
quence is,  that  the  ear,  the  English  ear,  at  any  rate, 
is  terribly  pestered  by  a  constant  recurrence  of  the 
same  sound.  For  example,  here  are  the  rhymes  of 
the  first  five  stanzas  of  the  first  canto  of  the  '  Orlando 
Furioso  '  of  Ariosto  : 

amori,  mori,  furori ;  canto,  tanto,  vanto ;  Trojano, 
Romano. 

tratto,  matto,  fatto  ;  rima,  prima,  lima  ;  concesso, 
promesso. 

prole,  vuole,  parole ;  nostro,  vostro,  inchiostro ; 
sono,  dono. 


lOO  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 

evoi,  voi,  suoi;  apparccchio,  vccchio,  orccchio; 
poco,  loco. 

innamorato,  lasciato,  tomato;  lei,  trofci,  Pircnei; 
Lamagna,  campagna. 

Christopher  North  takes  Warton  up  on  the  opinion 
quoted,  in  his  characteristic  way :  '  A  language,'  he 
says,  '  like  the  Italian,  so  open  that  you  cannot  speak 
it  without  rhyming,  is  the  very  worst  of  all  —  for 
rhymes  should  not  come  till  they  are  sought  —  if 
they  do,  they  give  no  pleasurable  touch  —  "  no  gentle 
shock  of  mild  surprise" — but,  like  intrusive  fools, 
keep  jingling  their  caps  and  bells  in  your  ears,  if  not 
to  your  indifference,  to  your  great  disgust -:- and  you 
wish  they  were  all  dead.  Not  so  with  the  fine,  bold, 
stern,  muscular,  masculine,  firm-knit,  and  heroic  lan- 
guage of  England.  Let  no  poet  dare  to  comjilain  of 
the  poverty  of  its  words,  in  what  Warton  calls  "  iden- 
tical cadences."  The  music  of  their  endings  is  mag- 
nificent, and  it  is  infmite.  And  we  conclude  with 
flinging  in  the  teeth  of  the  sciolist,  who  is  j^rating 
perhaps  of  the  superiority  of  the  German,  a  copy, 
bound  in  calf-.skin,  of  Walker's  Rhyming  Dictionary, 
for  the  shade  of  S])cn.ser  might  frown  while  it  smiled, 
were  we  to  knock  the  blockhead  down  with  our  vel- 
lum volume  of  the  "  I'^aerie  Queene."  ' 

The  Pictorial  Adapteoness  of  the  Spenserian 

Stanza. 

From  the  strong  individuality  of  the  stanza,  due  to 
its  compact  and  well-braced  structure,  and  its  fine, 
sweeping  close,  wc  might  decide,  a  priori,  as  lo  its 


THE    SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  loi 

signal  adaptcdness  to  elaborate  pictorial  effect ;  and 
this  adaptedness  the  reader  of  the  '  Faerie  Queene ' 
soon  comes  to  feel. 

.  A  great  gallery  of  pictures,  running  through  a 
wide  gamut  of  coloring  and  tone,  many  of  them  pos- 
sessing a  satisfying  unity  within  the  limits  of  a  single 
stanza,  might  be  collected  from  the  '  Faerie  Queene.' 

In  '  Observations,  Anecdotes,  and  Characters,  of 
Books  and  Men :  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Spence,'  Pope 
is  represented  as  saying  :  *  After  my  reading  a  Canto 
of  Spenser  two  or  three  days  ago  to  an  old  lady 
between  seventy  and  eighty,  she  said  that  I  had  been 
showing  her  a  collection  of  pictures.  She  said  very 
right ;  and  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  there  is  some- 
thing in  Spenser  that  pleases  one  as  strongly  in  one's 
old  age  as  it  did  in  one's  youth.  I  read  the  "  Faerie 
Queene  "  when  I  was  about  twelve,  with  a  vast  deal 
of  delight ;  and  I  think  it  gave  me  as  much  when  I 
read  it  over  about  a  year  or  two  ago.'  (Ed.  of  1820, 
pp.  86,  %•]) 

'The  true  use  of  him  is  as  a  gallery  of  pictures 
which  we  visit  as  the  mood  takes  us,  and  where  we 
spend  an  hour  or  two  at  a  time,  long  enough  to 
sweeten  our  perceptions,  not  so  long  as  to  cloy  them. 
...  as  at  Venice  you  swim  in  a  gondola  from  Gian 
Bellini  to  Titian,  and  from  Titian  to  Tintoret,  so  in 
him,  where  other  cheer  is  wanting,  the  gentle  sway 
of  his  measure,  like  the  rhythmical  impulse  of  the 
oar,  floats  you-  lullingly  along  from  picture  to  pic- 
ture.'—  James  Russell  Lowell. 

A  fine  illustration  of  pictorial  effect,  to  which  the 
structure  of  the  stanza  contributes,  is  the  description 


I02  ^^^E.    SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 

of  Prince  Arthur,  '  in  comijlete  steel,'  in  whom  the 
poet  meant  should  be  embodied  all  the  several  virtues 
represented  by  the  several  knights.  '  In  the  person 
of  Prince  Arthur,'  he  says,  in  his  letter  to  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  'I  set  forth  magnificence  in  particular; 
which  virtue,  for  that  ...  it  is  the  perfection  of  all 
the  rest,  and  containeth  in  it  them  all,  therefore  in  the 
whole  course  I  mention  the  deeds  of  Arthur  applyable 
to  thai  virtue  which  I  write  of  in  that  book.' 

The  forsaken  and  disconsolate  Una  wanders  m^ny 
a  wood,  and  measures  many  a  vale,  in  search  of  her 
long-lost  knight,  from  whom  she  has  been  separated 
by  the  wiles  of  Archimago. 

At  Ia.st  she  chaunced,  by  good  hap,  to  meet 
A  goodly  kniglit,  fairc  marching  by  the  way. 
Together  with  liis  Stiuyre,  arrayed  meet : 
Hi.s  glitterand  armour  shined  far  away, 
Like  glauncing  light  of  Phoebus  brightest  ray; 
From  to])  to  toe  no  place  appeared  bare. 
That  deadly  dint  of  .steel  endanger  may. 
Athwart  his  brea.st  a  bauldrick  brave  he  ware. 
That  shind,  like  twinkling  stars,  with  stones  most 
pretious  rare. 

The  alexandrine  glistens  like  the  baldrick  it  de- 
scribes. 

And  in  the  midst  thereof  one  pretious  stone 
Of  wondrous  worth,  and  eke  of  wondrous  mights. 
Shajjt  like  a  Ladies  head,  e.xceeding  shone. 
Like  Hesperus  emongst  the  le.sscr  lights. 
And  strove  for  to  ama/c  the  weaker  sights : 
Thereby  his  mortal  blade  full  comely  hong 
In  yvory  sheath,  ycar\''d  with  curious  slights, 
Whose  hilts  were  burnisht  gold,  and  handle  strong 
Of  mollier  perle  ;  and  buckled  with  a  gulden  tong. 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  103 

His  haughtie  Helmet,  horrid  all  with  gold, 
Both  glorious  brightness  and  great  terror  bredd : 
For  all  the  crest  a  Dragon  did  enfold 
With  greedie  pawes,  and  over  all  did  spredd 
His  golden  winges  :  his  dreadful!  hideous  hedd, 
Close  couched  on  the  bever,  seemed  to  throw 
From  flaming  mouth  bright  sparckles  fiery  redd. 
That  suddeine  horrour  to  faint  hearts  did  show ; 
And  scaly  tayle  was  strctcht  adowne  his  l^ack  full  low. 

Upon  the  top  of  all  his  lofty  crest, 

A  bounch  of  heares  discolourd  diversely. 

With  sprincled  pearle  and  gold  full  richly  drest, 

Did  shake,  and  seemd  to  daunce  for  jollity, 

Like  to  an  almond  tree  ymounted  hie 

On  top  of  greene  Selinis  all  alone. 

With  blossoms  brave  bedecked  daintily  ; 

Whose  tender  locks  do  tremble  every  one 

At  everie  little  breath  that  under  heaven  is  blowne. 

—  1. 7.  29-32. 

A  rhythmical  zephyr  creeps  through  the  last  two 
verses. 

Here  is  a  pretty  little  picture  of  a  hermitage  and  a 
chapel,  in  a  dale,  on  the  skirts  of  a  forest,  that  may 
be  hung  under  the  larger  picture  of  Prince  Arthur. 
It  is  a  picture  of  which  all  the  elements  mingle  in 
one  sweet  impression  : 

A  little  lowly  Hermitage  it  was, 

Downe  in  a  dale,  hard  by  a  forests  side. 

Far  from  resort  of  people  that  did  paS 

In  traveill  to  and  fro :  a  little  wyde 

There  was  an  holy  chappcll  edifyde, 

Wherein  the  Hermite  dewly  wont  to  say 

His  holy  thinges  each  morne  and  eventyde : 

Thereby  a  christall  streame  did  gently  play. 

Which  from  a  sacred  fountaine  wellCid  fortli  alway. 

—  I.  I.  3^. 


I04 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 


Observe  how  the  '  crystal  stream  '  flows  through 
the  alexandrine.  And  the  alliterations,  unobtrusive 
as  they  are,  contribute  not  a  little  to  the  melodious 
and  harmonious  blending  of  the  features  of  the  pic- 
ture:  ' /itt/e  /ow/y,'  '  ^/own  in  a  ^-/ale,'  'f^.xfxovc\  resort 
of  people,'  '  /ravel  /o,'  '  cryj/al  jA^eam  ' ;  in  the  last 
verse  there  is  an  effective  alternate  alliteration  of  / 
and  zi\  'fountain  it'clledybrth  ahi'ay.' 

Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  '  Imagination  and  Fancy,' 
presents  '  A  Gallery  of  Pictures  from  Sjienser,'  to 
each  of  which  he  has  attached  its  character,  and  the 
name  of  the  painter  of  whose  genius  it  reminded  him. 

For  these  pictures,  the  student  must  turn  to  the 
'Faerie  Queene.'  As  given  by  Hunt,  their  subjects, 
characters,  and  the  painters  they  suggest  are : 

Charissa ;  or.  Charity.  Character,  Spiritual  Love; 
painter,  Raphael,     (i.  lo.  30,  31.) 

Hope.  Character,  Sweetness,  without  Devoted- 
ness ;  painter,  Correggio.     (3.  12.  13.) 

Marriage  Procession  of  the  Thames  and  Mcd- 
way.  Character,  Genial  Strength,  Grace,  and  Lux- 
ury; painter,  Raphael.  (4.  11.  11,  12.)  Arion. 
(4.  II.  23.) 

Sir  Guyon  binding  Furor.  Character,  Super- 
human P2nergy  and  Rage;  jiainter,  Michael  Angelo. 
(2.  4.  14,  15.) 

Una  (or  Faith  in  Distress).  Character,  Loving 
and  Sorrowful  Purity  glorified.  (May  I  say,  that 
I  think  it  would  take  Raphael  and  Correggio  united 
to  paint  this,  on  account  of  the  excpiisite  chinro-scurof 
Or  might  not  the  painter  of  the  Magdalen  have  it 
all  to  himself  i*)     (1.3.  l-y.) 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  IO5 

Night  and  the  Witch  Duessa,  taking  Sansjoy  in 
their  chariot  to  ^sculapius  to  be  restored  to  life. 
Character,  Dreariness  of  Scene;  Horridness  of  As- 
pect and  Wicked  Beauty,  side  by  side;  painter, 
Julio  Romano,     (i.  5.  28-32.) 

Venus  in  search  of  Cupid,  coming  to  Diana. 
Character,  Contrast  of  Impassioned  and  Unimpas- 
sioned  Beauty  —  cold  and  warm  colors  mixed ;  painter, 
Titian.     (3.  6.  17-19.) 

May.  Character,  Budding  Beauty  in  male  and 
female ;  Animal  Passion ;  Luminous  vernal  color- 
ing ;  painter,  Titian.      (7.  7.  34.) 

An  Angel,  with  a  Pilgrim  and  a  fainting  Knight. 
Character,  Active  Superhuman  Beauty,  with  the 
finest  coloring  and  contrast ;  painter,  Titian.      (2.  8. 

3-5-) 

Aurora   and    Tithonus.       Character,    Young    and 

Genial  Beauty,  contrasted  with  Age,  —  the  acces- 
sories full  of  the  mixed  warmth  and  chillness  of 
morning;  painter,  Guido.     (i.  11.  51.) 

The  Cave  of  Despair.  Character,  Savage  and  For- 
lorn Scenery,  occupied  by  Squalid  Misery  ;  painter, 
Salvator  Rosa.     (i.  9.  33-36.) 

A  Knight  in  bright  armor  looking  into  a  Cave. 
Character,  A  deep  effect  of  chiaroscuro,  making 
deformity  visible ;  painter,  Rembrandt,     (i.  i.  14.) 

Malbecco  sees  Hellcnore  dancing  with  the  Satyrs. 
Character,  Luxurious  Abandonment  to  Mirth  ;  painter, 
Nicholas  Poussin.     (3.  10.  44,  45.) 

Landscape,  with  Damsels  conveying  a  wounded 
Squire  on  his  Horse.  Character,  Select  Southern 
Elegance,    with    an    intimation  of  fine  architecture ; 


I06  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 

painter,  Claude.  (Yet  '  mighty '  woods  hardly  be- 
long to  him.)     (3.  5.  39,  40.) 

The  Nymphs  and  Graces  dancing  to  a  shepherd's 
pipe ;  or,  Apotheosis  of  a  Poet's  Mistress.  Charac- 
ter, Nakedness  without  Impudency ;  Multitudinous 
and  Innocent  Delight;  K.xaltation  of  the  principal 
person  from  circumstances,  rather  than  her  own 
ideality;  painter,  Albano.     (6.  10.  10-12,  15,  16.) 

Whoever  reads  these  selections,  however  little 
susceptibility  he  may  have  to  organic  literary  form, 
can  hardly  fail  to  be  sensible,  to  some  extent,  of 
the  adaptedness  of  the  stanza  to  the  pictorial  effect. 
Certainly  no  other  structure  of  stanza  would  con- 
tribute so  much  to  this  effect.  And  the  roominess 
of  the  stanza  allows  of  a  detailed  working-up  of  a 
picture.  To  tune  the  sensibilities  to  the  subtlest 
elements  of  poetic  form,  one  need  not  go  outside  of 
the  wide  domain  of  the  'Faerie  Queene.' 

In  the  Preface  to  his  '  Fables,  Ancient  and  Mod- 
ern, tran.slated  into  Verse  from  Homer,  Ovid,  Hoccac- 
cio,  and  Chaucer,'  John  Dryden  says,  'We  must 
be  children  before  we  grow  men.  There  was  an  Fn- 
nius,  and  in  process  of  time  a  Lucilius,  and  a  Lucre- 
tius, before  Virgil  and  Horace:  even  after  Chaucer 
there  was  a  Spenser,  a  Harrington,  a  Fairfa.x,  before 
Waller  and  Denham  were  in  being :  and  our  fiinn- 
bcrs  were  in  their  nonas;e  till  these  last  af^peared.' ! 
And  in  his  Dedication  of  'The  Rival  Ladies'  to 
Lord  Orrery,  he  says :  '  Hut  the  e.xcellence  and  dig- 
nity of  rhyme  7vere  never  fully  known  till  Mr.  Waller 
taui^ht  it ;  he  first  made  writing  easily  an  art,  first 
showed   us  to  conclude  the  sense,   most  commonly 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  107 

in  distichs,  which  in  the  verse  of  those  before  him 
runs  on  for  so  many  lines  together,  that  the  reader 
is  out  of  breath  to  overtake  it.  This  sweetness 
of  Mr.  Waller's  lyric  poesy  was  afterwards  followed 
in  the  epic  by  Sir  John  Denham  in  his  '  Cooper's 
Hill,'  a  poem  which,  for  the  majesty  of  the  style,  is 
and  ever  zvill  be  the  exact  standard  of  good  writing.'! 
Verily,  John  Dryden  perpetrated  more  rhetorical 
nonsense  than  any  other  literary  critic  that  ever 
lived.  ^ 

1  '  It  was  a  firm  belief  of  the  writers  of  the  period  [of  the  Restora- 
tion] that  then  for  the  first  time  was  the  art  of  correct  English  versi- 
fication exemplified  and  appreciated.  It  was,  we  say,  a  firm  belief  of 
the  time,  and  indeed  it  has  been  a  common-place  of  criticism  ever 
since,  that  Edmund  Waller  was  the  first  poet  who  wrote  smooth  and 
accurate  verse,  that  in  this  he  was  followed  by  Sir  John  Denham,  and 
that  these  two  men  were  reformers  of  English  metre.  "  Well-placing 
of  words,  for  the  sweetness  of  pronunciation,  was  not  known  till  Mr. 
Waller  introduced  it,"  is  a  deliberate  statement  of  Dryden  himself, 
meant  to  apply  especially  to  verse.  Here,  again,  we  have  to  sepa- 
rate a  matter  of  fact  from  a  matter  of  doctrine.  To  aver,  with  such 
specimens  of  older  English  verse  before  us  as  the  works  of  Chaucer 
and  Spenser,  and  the  minor  poems  of  Milton,  that  it  was  Waller  or 
any  other  petty  writer  of  the  Restoration  that  first  taught  us  sweetness, 
or  smoothness,  or  even  correctness  of  verse,  is  so  ridiculous  that  the 
currency  of  such  a  notion  can  only  be  accounted  for  by  the  servility 
with  which  small  critics  go  on  repeating  whatever  any  one  big  critic  has 
said.  That  Waller  and  Denham,  however,  did  set  the  example  of 
something  new  in  the  manner  of  English  versification,  —  which  "  some- 
thing "  Dryden,  Pope,  and  other  poets  who  afterwards  adopted  it, 
regarded  as  an  improvement,  —  needs  not  be  doubted.  For  us  it  is 
sufficient  in  the  meantime  to  recognise  the  change  as  an  attempt  after 
greater  neatness  of  mechanical  structure,  leaving  open  the  question 
whether  it  was  a  change  for  the  better.'  —  Dryden,  and  the  Literature  of 
the  Restoration,  by  Daviu  M.\sson. 


VIII. 

THE   SPENSERIAN    STANZA   AS   EMPLOYED    BY 
SUBSEQUENT    POETS. 

TIIIC  many  groat  Knglish  poets  who  have  em- 
ployed the  Spenserian  stanza  bear  witness  to 
the  estimation  in  which  it  has  been  held.  But  in  no 
other  poet  do  we  find  the  peculiar  musig  which  an 
educated  car  enjoys  everywhere  in  Spenser.  *  The 
harmonies  interwoven  through  the  whole  stanza,  and 
each  line  elaborated  with  reference  to  the  whole,  the 
meaning  and  the  music  being  incomplete,  both  sus- 
pended, as  it  were,  till  revealed  by  the  expected 
close,  that  very  expectation  being  among  the  ele- 
ments of  the  poet's  power.' 

Thomson  employs  the  stanza  in  his  'Castle  of  Indo- 
lence ' ;  Shenstone,  in  his  'Schoolmistress';  lieattie, 
in  his  'Minslrol';  Hums,  in  his  'Cotter's  Saturday 
Night';  Campbell,  in  his  'Gertrude  of  Wyoming';  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  in  his  '  Don  Roderick  ' ;  Wordsworth, 
in  his  'Female  Vagrant'  ('Guilt  and  Sorrow')  and 
'  Stanzas  written  in  my  pocket-copy  of  Thom.son's 
"Castle  of  Indolence'";  Shelley,  in  his  'Revolt  of 
Islam  '  and  his  '  Adonais ' ;  Keats,  in  his  '  Kve  of  St. 
Agnes' ;  Croly,  in  his  '  Angel  of  the  World,'  and  his 
'Paris,  in  1815';  Lord  Hyron,  in  his  'Childe  Harold'; 
Tennyson,  in  the  opening  of  his  '  Lotos- Eaters,'  etc. 
108 


THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA.  lOQ 

Space  will  not  allow  adequate  examples  to  be 
given  from  all  these  poets;  but  the  student  of 
verse  who  is  interested  in  noting  the  varied  tones 
which  the  same  instrument  may  have  under  the 
hands  of  different  performers,  due,  in  part,  to  the 
different  song  which  was  in  each  when  he  wrote, 
should  read  (aloud,  of  course)  the  first  book,  at 
least,  of  the  *  Faerie  Queehe,'  and  then  the  above- 
mentioned  poems.  "^ 

An  indispensable  condition  of  the  appreciation  of 
poetic  forms  is  a  well-cultivated  voice.  Without  a 
proper  vocal  rendering,  no  poetry,  worth  reading,  can 
be  duly  appreciated.  The  articulating  thought  may 
be  got  through  silent  reading;  but  the  indefinite, 
informing  spirit  can  be  reached,  if  reached  at  all, 
only  through  a  proper  vocal  rendition  of  the  verse. 


Thomson's  ^Castle  of  Indolence' 

Thomson,  in  his  'Castle  of  Indolence,'  has,  perhaps, 
most  successfully  reproduced  Spenser's  softness  and 
dreaminess  of  tone.  The  following  stanzas  afford 
good  illustrations : 

2. 

In  lowly  dale,  fast  by  a  river's  side. 

With  woody  hill  o'er  hill  encompassed  round. 

A  most  enchanting  wizard  did  abide, 

Than  whom  a  fiend  more  fell  is  nowhere  found. 

It  was,  I  ween,  a  lovely  spot  of  ground  : 

And  there  a  season  atween  June  and  May. 

Half  prankt  with  spring,  with  summer  half  imbrowned, 

A  listless  climate  made,  where,  sooth  to  say, 

No  living  wight  could  work,  ne  car^d  even  for  play. 


no  THE   SPENSERIAX  STAXZA 

3- 

Was  nought  around  but  images  of  rest : 
Sleep-soothing  groves,  and  quiet  lawns  between  : 
And  flowery  beds  that  slumbrous  influence  kest. 
From  poppies  breatiied  ;  and  beds  of  pleasant  green, 
Where  never  yet  was  creeping  creature  seen. 
Meantime,  unnumbered  glittering  streamlets  played, 
And  hurled  every  where  their  waters  sheen  ; 
That,  as  they  bickered  through  the  sunny  glade. 
Though  restless  still  themselves,  a  lulling  murmur  made. 

4- 
Joined  to  the  prattle  of  the  purling  rills 
Were  heard  the  lowing  herds  along  the  vale. 
And  flocks  loud  bleating  from  the  distant  hills, 
And  vacant  shepherds  pilling  in  the  dale; 
And,  now  and  then,  sweet  Thiloniel  would  wail, 
Or  stock  doves  plain  amid  the  forest  deep. 
That  drowsy  rustled  to  the  sighing  gale ; 
And  still  a  coil  the  grasshopper  did  keei) ; 
Yet  all  these  sounds  yblent  inclined  all  to  sleep. 

5- 
Full,  in  the  passage  of  the  vale,  above, 
A  salile,  silent,  solemn  forest  stood. 
Where  nought  but  shadowy  forms  was  seen  to  move. 
As  Idless  fancied  in  her  dreaming  mood ; 
And  u])  the  hills,  on  either  side,  a  wood 
Of  blackening  j^ines,  aye  waving  to  and  fro. 
Sent  forth  a  sleepy  horror  through  the  blood ; 
And  where  this  valley  winded  out,  below. 
The  murmuring  main  was  heard,  and  scarcely  heard,  to  tlow. 

6. 

A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy-head  it  was. 
Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  l>.df-shut  eye  ; 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass. 
For  ever  flushing  round  a  summer-sky  : 
There  eke  the  soft  delights,  that  witchingly 


AS  EMPLOYED   BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.  Ill 

Instil  a  wanton  sweetness  throu<;h  the  breast; 
And  the  cahn  pleasures  always  hovered  nigh ; 
But  whatever  smacked  of  noyance,  or  unrest. 
Was  far,  far  off  exoelled  from  this  delicious  nest. 


Shellefs  '  Laon  and  Cythna.^ 

In  the  Preface  to  '  Laon  and  Cythna,'  better  known 
as  'The  Revolt  of  Islam,'  Shelley  says:  'I  have 
adopted  the  stanza  of  Spenser  (a  measure  inex- 
pressibly beautiful),  not  because  I  consider  it  a  finer 
model  of  poetical  harmony  than  the  blank  verse  of 
Shakespeare  and  Milton,  but  because  in  the  latter 
there  is  no  shelter  for  mediocrity :  you  must  either 
succeed  or  fail.  This  perhaps  an  aspiring  spirit  should 
desire.  But  I  was  enticed,  also,  by  the  brilliancy  and 
magnificence  of  sound  wJiicJi  a  mind  that  has  been 
nourished  upon  musical  tho?ights,  can  produce  by  a  just 
and  harmonious  arrangement  of  the  pauses  of  this 
measure.' 

'The  Revolt  of  Islam'  is  more  genuinely  and 
intensely  lyrical  in  its  character  than  is  any  other 
poem  in  which  the  stanza  is  used.  The  poem  is 
the  expression  of  a  lofty,  aspiring,  but  feverish 
and  much-bewildered  spirit,  who,  at  times,  brings 
out  of  the  instrument  employed  all  its  capabili- 
ties of  'brilliancy  and  magnificence  of  sound.'  But 
the  reader  of  '  The  Revolt  of  Islam '  cannot  but 
feel  that  the  instrument  was  constructed  for  the 
expression  of  other  states  and  attitudes  of  mind 
and  feeling  than  are  generally  exhibited  in  this 
poem. 


I  I  2  THE   SPENSERIAy  ST.IXZA 

John  Todhuntcr,  in  '  A  Study  of  Shelley,'  remarks  : 
'  In  choosing  the  Spenserian  stanza  for  his  great 
visionary  poem,  Shelley  challenges  comparison  with 
Spenser  himself,  and  with  Byron  ;  and  it  cannot  be 
said  that  he  appears  to  advantage  in  this  comparison. 
.  .  .  Compare  the  impetuous  rapidity  and  pale 
intensity  of  Shelley's  verse  with  the  lulling  harmony, 
the  lingering  cadence,  the  voluj^tuous  color  of 
Spenser's,  or  with  the  grandiose  majesty  of  Byron's. 
The  stanzas  of  the  "  Faerie  Oueene  "  have  some- 
thing of  the  wholesome  old-world  mellowness  of 
Haydn's  music  ;  those  of  "  Laon  and  Cythna " 
something  of  the  morbid  fever  of  Chopin's;  .  .  . 
In  "  Adonais,"  indeed,  a  poem  on  which  he  be- 
stowed much  labor,  he  handles  the  stanza  in  a 
masterly  manner,  and  endows  it  with  an  individual 
music  beautiful  and  new;  and  even  "Laon  and 
Cythna"  is  full  of  exquisite  passages,  in  which  the 
very  rhymes  lend  wings  to  his  imagination,  and 
become  the  occasion  of  sweet  out-of-the-way  modes 
of  expression,  full  of  ethereal  poetry  of  the  most 
Shelleyan  kind.' 

The  first  fifteen  .stanzas  of  Canto  I  afford  good 
examples  of  Shelley's  use  of  the  stanza  in  '  The  Revolt 
of  Islam.'  The  |)ause-melody  constitutes  an  imjiortant 
element  of  the  general  aesthetic  im|)ressi()n  ;  and  the 
frequent  extra  end-syllables,  resulting  in  female  rhymes, 
are  skilfully  employed,  and  often  with  fine  musical 
effect. 

The  poet,  from  '  the  peak  of  an  aerial  j)romontory,' 
bcholfls.  in  the  air.  '  an  Kagle  and  a  Serpent  wreathed 
in  fight  ' ; 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.       I  1 3 

When  the  last  hope  of  trampled  France  had  failed 
Like  a  brief  dream  of  unremaining  glory, 
From  visions  of  despair  I  rose,  and  scaled 
The  peak  of  an  aerial  promontory, 
Whose  caverned  base  with  the  vext  surge  was  hoary ; 
And  saw  the  golden  dawn  break  fortli,  and  waken 
Each  cloud,  and  every  wave  :  —  l^ut  transitory 
The  calm :  for  sudden,  the  firm  earth  was  shaken, 
As  if  by  the  last  wreck  its  frame  were  overtaken. 

So  as  I  stood, ^  one  blast  of  muttering  thunder 

Burst  in  far  peals  along  the  waveless  deep. 

When,  gathering  fast,  around,  above  and  under, 

Long  trains  of  tremulous  mist  began  to  creep. 

Until  their  complicating  lines  did  steep 

The  orient  sun  in  shadow :  —  not  a  sound 

Was  heard ;  one  horrible  repose  did  keep 

The  forests  and  the  floods,  and  all  around 

Darkness  more  dread  than  night  was  poured  upon  tlie  ground. 

Hark  !  'tis  the  rushing  of  a  wind  that  sweeps 

Earth  and  the  ocean.     See  !  the  lightnings  yawn 

Deluging  Heaven  with  fire,  and  the  lashed  deeps 

(flitter  and  boil  beneath  :  it  rages  on. 

One  mighty  stream,  whirlwind  and  waves  upthrown. 

Lightning,  and  liail,  and  darkness  eddying  by. 

Tiiere  is  a  pause  —  the  sea-birds,  that  were  gone 

Into  their  caves  to  shriek,  come  forth,  to  spy 

What  calm  has  fallen  on  eartli,  what  light  is  in  the  sky. 

For,  where  tlie  irresistible  storm  had  cloven 
That  fearful  darkness,  the  blue  sky  was  seen 
Fretted  with  many  a  fair  cloud  interwoven 
Most  delicately,  and  the  ocean  green, 
Berkeath  that  opening  spot  of  blue  serene. 
Quivered  like  burning  emerald  :  calm  was  spread 
On  all  below  ;  but  far  on  high,  between 
Earth  and  the  upper  air,  the  va.st  clouds  fled. 
Countless  and  swift  as  leaves  on  autumn's  tempest  shed. 

1  As  1  Stuud  thus.  —  FuK.MAN. 


I  14  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

For  ever,  as  the  war  became  more  fierce 

Between  the  whirlwinds  and  tlie  wrack  on  high 

That  spot  grew  more  serene ;  bhie  light  did  pierce 

The  woof  of  those  white  clouds,  which  seemed  to  lie 

Far,  deep,  and  motionless ;  while  tliro"  the  sky 

The  pallid  semicircle  of  the  moon 

Past  on,  in  slow  and  moving  majesty  ; 

Its  upper  horn  arrayed  in  mists,  which  soon 

Hut  slowly  Hed,  like  dew  beneath  the  beams  of  noon. 

I  could  not  choose  but  gaze  ;  a  fascination 

Dwelt  in  that  moon,  and  sky,  and  clouds,  which  drew 

My  fancy  thither,  and  in  expectation 

Of  what  I  knew  not,  I  remained  :  —  the  hue 

Of  the  white  moon,  amid  that  heaven  so  blue. 

Suddenly  stained  with  shadow  did  appear; 

A  speck,  a  cloud,  a  shape,  approaching  grew, 

Like  a  great  ship  in  the  sun's  sinking  sphere 

Beheld  afar  at  sea,  and  swift  it  came  anear. 

Even  like  a  bark,  which  from  a  chasm  of  mountains. 

Dark,  vast,  and  overhanging,  on  a  river 

Which  there  collects  the  strength  of  all  its  fountains. 

Comes  forth,  whilst  with  the  speed  its  frame  doth  quiver, 

Sails,  oars,  and  stream,  tending  to  one  endeavour ; 

.So,  from  that  chasm  of  light  a  wingt-il  P'orm 

On  all  the  winds  of  heaven  approaching  ever 

Floated,  dilating  as  it  came  :  the  storm 

Pursued  it  with  fierce  blasts,  and  lightnings  swift  and  warm. 

A  course  precipitous,  of  dizzy  .si)eed, 

.Suspending  thought  and  breath  ;  a  monstrous  sight! 

For  in  the  air  do  I  behold  indeed 

An  Kagle  and  a  .Serjient  wreathed  in  figlit :  — 

And  now  relaxing  its  impetuous  flight. 

Before  the  aerial  rock  on  which  I  stood. 

The  K.igle,  hovering,  wheeled  to  left  and  right, 

Ancl  hung  with  lingering  wings  over  tlic  flood, 

And  startled  with  its  veils  tlie  wide  air's  solitude. 


AS  EMPLOYED   BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.       11$ 

A  shaft  of  light  upon  its  wings  descended, 
And  every  golden  feather  gleamed  therein  — 
Feather  and  scale  inextricably  blended. ^ 
The  Serpent's  mailed  and  many-coloured  skin 
Shone  thro'  the  plumes  its  coils  were  twined  within 
By  many  a  swollen  and  knotted  fold,  and  high 
And  far,  the  neck  receding  lithe  and  thin, 
Sustained  a  crested  head,  which  warily 
Shifted  and  glanced  before  the  Eagle's  steadfast  eye. 

Around,  around,  in  ceaseless  circles  wheeling 

With  clang  of  wings  and  scream,  the  Eagle  sailed 

Incessantly  —  sometimes  on  high  concealing 

Its  lessening  orbs,  sometimes  as  if  it  failed. 

Drooped  thro'  the  air,  and  still  it  shrieked  and  wailed, 

And  casting  back  its  eager  head,  with  beak 

And  talon  unremittingly  assailed 

The  wreathed  Serpent,  who  did  ever  seek 

Upon  his  enemy's  heart  a  mortal  wound  to  wreak. 

What  life,  what  power,  was  kindled  and  arose 

Within  the  sphere  of  that  appalling  fray! 

For,  from  the  encounter  of  those  w^ondrous  foes, 

A  vapour,  like  the  sea's  suspended  spray 

Hung  gathered  :  in  the  void  air,  far  away, 

Floated  the  shattered  plumes  ;  bright  scales  did  leap. 

Where'er  the  Eagle's  talons  made  their  way. 

Like  sparks  into  the  darkness  ;  —  as  they  sweep. 

Blood  stains  the  snowy  foam  of  the  tumultuous  deep. 

1  I  suspect  the  period  at  the  end  of  this  line  and  the  pause  at  the 
end  of  the  preceding  one  should  change  places.  I  leave  matters  as 
Shelley  left  them,  because  there  may  have  been  no  oversight,  the 
present  construction  being  possible;  but  it  would  be  more  clearly 
sequent  to  read  the  passage  thus :  '  A  shaft  of  light  descended  on  the 
eagle's  wings,  and  every  golden  feather  in  them  gleamed.  Feather 
and  scale  being  blended  inextricably,  the  serpent's  mailed  and  many- 
coloured  skin  shone  through  the  plumes,'  etc.  —  Forman. 


Il6  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

Swift  chances  in  that  combat  —  many  a  check, 
And  many  a  change,  a  dark  and  wild  turnmil : 
Sometimes  the  Snake  around  his  enemy's  neck 
Locked  in  stiff  rings  his  adamantine  coil, 
Until  tlie  Eagle,  faint  witii  pain  and  toil. 
Remitted  his  strong  flight,  and  near  the  sea 
Languidly  fluttered,  hopeless  so  to  foil 
His  adversary,  who  then  reared  on  high 
His  red  and  burning  crest,  radiant  with  victory. 

Then  on  the  white  edge  of  tiic  bursting  surge. 

Where  they  had  sunk  together,  would  the  Snake 

Relax  his  suffocating  grasp,  and  scourge 

The  wind  with  his  wild  writhings ;  for  to  break 

That  chain  of  torment,  the  vast  bird  would  shake 

The  strength  of  his  unconquerable  wings 

As  in  despair,  and  with  his  sinewy  neck. 

Dissolve  in  sudden  shock  those  linked  rings, 

Then  soar  —  as  swift  as  smoke  from  a  volcano  springs. 

Wile  baffled  wile,  and  .strength  encountered  strength. 

Thus  long,  but  unprevailing  :  —  the  event 

Of  that  jwrtentous  fight  appeared  at  length  : 

Until  the  lamp  of  day  was  almost  spent 

It  had  endured,  when  lifeless,*  stark,  and  rent. 

Hung  high  that  mighty  Serpent,  and  at  last 

P'ell  to  the  sea,  while  o'er  the  continent. 

With  clang  of  wings  and  .scream  the  Kagle  i)ast. 

Heavily  borne  away  on  the  exhausted  blast. 

And  with  it  fled  the  tempest,  so  that  ocean 
And  earth  and  sky  shone  thro'  the  atmosphere  — 
Only,  'twas  strange  to  see  the  red  commotion 
Of  waves  like  mountains  o'er  the  sinking  s|)here 
Of  sun-set  sweej),  and  their  fierce  roar  to  hear 
Amid  the  calm :  down  the  steep  path  I  wound 
To  the  sea-shore  —  the  evening  was  most  clear 
And  beautiful,  and  there  the  sea  I  found 
Calm  as  a  cradled  child  in  dreamless  slumber  iiound. 

'  I.iftless  i.s  cither  an  oversight  or  meant  \n  imply  rxhnuitfii  merely, 
as  wc  learn  further  on  that  the  snake  was  still  alive.  —  l''oR.MAN, 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      11/ 

English  poetry  affords  no  better  illustrations  of 
the  capabilities  of  the  Spenserian  stanza,  mentioned 
by  Shelley,  in  the  passage  quoted  above,  than  these 
stanzas  afford. 

Shelley's  '■  Adonais.' 

After  reading  the  first  canto  of  '  The  Revolt  of 
Islam,'  which  will  be  sufficient,  in  order  to  feel  the 
moulding  spirit  of  the  verse,  the  student  should  read 
'  Adonais,'  the  elegiac  tone  of  which  he  will  feel  to 
be  in  very  decided  contrast  to  the  tone  of  the  former 
poem.  '  Adonais,'  too,  exhibits  capabilities  of  the 
Spenserian  stanza  not  exhibited,  to  the  same  extent, 
by  any  other  poem  written  in  this  stanza. 

Every  reader,  in  passing  from  '  The  Revolt  of 
Islam '  (great  as  are  the  peculiar  merits  of  its  verse) 
to  the  '  Adonais,'  must  feel  that  the  employment  of 
the  Spenserian  stanza,  in  the  service  of  the  lofty 
elegiac  tone  of  the  latter,  is  far  more  successful  than 
its  employment  as  an  organ  of  the  tumultuous  spirit 
of  the  former  poem.  The  following  stanzas  afford  a 
sufficient  evidence  of  this  : 

II. 

Where  wert  thou  mighty  Mother,  when  he  lay. 
When  thy  Son  lay,  pierced  by  the  shaft  which  flies 
,   In  darkness?     Where  was  lorn  Urania 
When  Adonais  died?  witii  veiltid  eyes, 
"Mid  listening  Echoes,  in  her  Paradise 
She  sate,  while  one,  with  soft  enamoured  breath. 
Rekindled  all  the  fading  melodies. 
With  which,  like  Howers  that  mock  the  corse  beneath. 
He  had  adorned  and  hid  the  coming  bulk  of  death. 


Il8  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

XIV. 

All  he  had  loved,  and  moulded  into  thought. 

From  shape,  and  hue,  and  odour,  and  sweet  sound, 

Lamented  Adonais.     Morning  sougiu 

Her  eastern  watchtower.  and  her  hair  unbound. 

Wet  with  the  tears  whitli  should  adorn  the  ground. 

Dimmed  the  aerial  eyes  that  kindle  day  ; 

Afar  the  melancholy  thunder  moaned. 

Pale  Ocean  in  unquiet  slumber  lay. 

And  the  wild  winds  flew  around.'  .sobbing  in  their  dismay. 

The  alexandrine  of  this  stanza  has  a  special  effec- 
tiveness by  reason  of  its  two  exceptional  feet,  the 
third  foot  'flew  arotmd,'  being  an  xxn,  and  the  fourth, 
'sobbing,'  an  ax.  In  reading  the  verse,  the  voice 
should  be  well  filled  out  on  'wild  winds,'  accelerated 
on  '  flew  a-,'  and  brought  down  strongly  on  '  round  ' ; 
the  exceptional  ictus  on  '  sob- '  is  effective.  I'eter 
Bayne  quotes  this  stanza  in  his  'Tennyson  and  his 
Teachers,'  and  remarks  of  it :  'If  absolute  perfection 
could  be  asserted  of  any  human  thing,  that  stanza 
might  be  called  perfect ;  utterly  faultless,  at  once  in 
feeling,  imagery,  diction,  and  rhythm.' 

XVIII. 

Ah,  woe  is  mel     Winter  is  come  and  gone. 

But  grief  returns  with  the  revolving  year; 

The  airs  and  streams  renew  their  joyous  tone  ; 

The  ants,  the  bees,  the  swallows,  re-appear ; 

Fresh  leaves  and  flowers  deck  the  dead  Seasons'  bier; 

The  amorous  birds  now  pair  in  every  brake. 

And  build  their  mossy  homes  in  field  and  brere ; 

And  the  green  lizard,  and  the  golden  snake. 

Like  unimpri.soned  flames,  out  of  their  trance  aw.ikc. 

'  '  .Around,'  accnrrlinf;  to  Mr*.  Shelley's  editions;  l-'orman's  edition 
Hm  •  round,'  wliith  i»  less  effective. 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      1 19 

XIX. 

Through  wood  and  stream  and  field  and  hill  and  Ocean 
A  quickening  life  from  the  Earth's  heart  has  burst, 
As  it  has  ever  done,  with  change  and  motion, 
From  the  great  morning  of  the  world  when  first 
God  dawned  on  Chaos ;  in  its  stream  immersed, 
The  lamps  of  Heaven  flash  with  a  softer  light ; 
All  baser  things  pant  with  life's  sacred  thirst, 
Diifuse  themselves,  and  spend  in  love's  delight 
The  beauty  and  the  joy  of  their  renewed  might. 


XXXI. 

Midst  others  of  less  note,  came  one  frail  Form,i 

A  phantom  among  men  ;  companionless 

As  the  last  cloud  of  an  expiring  storm 

Whose  thunder  is  its  knell ;  he,  as  I  guess. 

Had  gazed  on  Nature's  naked  loveliness, 

ActcEon-like,  and  now  he  fled  astray 

With  feeble  steps  o'er  the  world's  wilderness. 

And  his  own  thoughts  along  that  nigged  way. 

Pursued,  like  raging  hounds,  their  father  and  their  prey. 


XXXIII. 

His  head  was  bound  with  pansies  overblown. 
And  faded  violets,  white,  and  pied,  and  blue ; 
And  a  light  spear  topped  with  a  cypress  cone. 
Round  whose  rude  shaft  dark  ivy  tresses  grew 
Yet  dripping  with  the  forest's  noonday  dew, 
Vibrated,"^  as  the  ever-beating  heart 
,  Shook  the  weak  hand  that  grasped  it ;  of  that  crew 
He  came  the  last,  neglected  and  apart ; 
A  herd-abandoned  deer,  struck  by  the  hunter's  dart 

1  Shelley  here  alludes  to  himself. 

2  Note  the  effect  here  of  the  exceptional  ictus,  ami  of  the  pause 
after  this  initial  word. 


I20  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

LIV. 

That  Light  whose  smile  kindles  the  Universe, 
That  Beauty  in  which  all  things  work  and  move. 
That  Benediction  which  the  eclipsing  Curse 
Of  birth  can  quench  not,  that  sustaining  Love 
Wiiich  through  the  web  of  being  blindly  wove 
By  man  and  beast  and  earth  and  air  and  sea, 
Burns  bright  or  dim,  as  each  are  mirrors  of 
The  fire  for  which  all  thirst ;  now  beams  on  me. 
Consuming  the  last  clouds  of  cold  mortality. 

LV. 

The  breath  whose  might  1  have  invoked  in  song 

Descends  on  me;  my  spirit's  bark  is  driven, 

P'ar  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng' 

Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given  : 

The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven ! 

I  am  borne  darkly,  fearfully,  afar ; 

Whilst  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  Heaven, 

The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star. 

Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are. 


Keats' s  '  Eve  of  St.  Agnes.' 

In  what  Tctcr  l^aync  call.s  '  her  linperiiifj,  lovinj]^, 
particularizing  mood,'  Imagination  finds  amj^lc  scojk* 
in  the  roomy  and  elaborately  wrought  Spenserian 
stanza ;  and  the  adaj)tability  of  the  stanza  to  this 
mood,  is  in  no  other  poem  better  illustrated  than 
it  is  in  Keats's  '  Kvc  of  St.  Agnes.' 

'  Keats  takes  in  this  poem,'  says  Sidney  Colvin, 
'  the  simple,  almost  threadbare  theme  of  the  love 
of  an  adventurous  youth  for  the  daughter  of  a  hos- 
tile  house  .   .   .  and  brings  it  deftly  into  association 


AS  EMPLOYED   BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      121 

with  the  old  popular  belief  as  to  the  way  a  maiden 
might  on  this  anniversary  win  sight  of  her  lover 
in  a  dream.  Choosing  happily  for  such  a  purpose 
the  Spenserian  stanza,  he  adds  to  the  melodious 
grace,  the  "sweet-slipping  movement,"  as  it  has 
been  called,  of  Spenser,  a  transparent  case  and 
directness  of  construction ;  and  with  this  ease  and 
directness  combines  ...  a  never-failing  richness  and 
concentration  of  poetic  meaning  and  suggestion.' 

Of  these  high  merits  the  following  stanzas  afford 
signal  illustrations : 

r. 

St.  Agnes'  Eve  —  Ah,  bitter  chill  it  was! 

The  owl,  for  all  his  featliers,  was  a-cold  ; 

The  hare  limped  trembling  through  the  frozen  grass. 

And  silent  was  the  flock  in  wooly  fold ; 

Numb  were  the  beadsman's  fingers  while  he  told 

His  rosary,  and  while  his  frosted  breath, 

Like  pious  incense  from  a  censer  old. 

Seemed  taking  flight  for  heaven  without  a  death 

Past  the  sweet  Virgin's  picture,  while  his  prayer  he  saith. 

II. 

His  prayer  he  saith,  this  patient,  holy  man. 

Then  takes  his  lamp,  and  ri.seth  from  his  knees. 

And  back  returneth,  meagre,  barefoot,  wan. 

Along  the  chapel  aisle  by  slow  degrees  : 

TI.e  sculptured  dead  on  each  side  seem  to  freeze, 

Emprisoned  in  black,  purgatorial  rails : 

Knights,  ladies,  praying  in  dumb  orat'ries. 

He  passeth  by  ;  and  his  weak  spirit  fails 

To  think  how  they  may  ache  in  icy  hoods  and  mails. * 

>  The  monuments  in  the  chapel  aisle  are  brought  before  us,  not  by 
any  effort  of  description,  but  solely  through  our  sympathy  with  the 
shivering  fancy  of  the  beadsman.  —  Sidney  Colvin. 


122  THE   SPEXSERIAN  STANZA 

IV. 

The  ancient  Beadsman  heard  the  prelude  soft ; 

And  so  it  chanced,  for  many  a  door  was  wide. 

From  hurry  to  and  fro.     Soon,  up  aloft. 

The  silver,  snarling  trumpets  "gan  to  chide  : 

The  level  chambers,  ready  with  their  pride. 

Were  glowing  to  receive  a  thousand  piests  : 

The  car\tl'd  angels,  ever  eager-eyed. 

Stared,  wiiere  upon  their  heads  tlie  cornice  rests. 

With  hair  blown  back,  and  wings  put  cross-wise  on  their  breasts.' 

A  fine  effect  is  secured  by  the  pause  after  the 
initial  word  '  Stared,'  of  the  ei^^hth  verse.  The  word 
should  be  read  with  a  downward  inflection.  The 
emphasis  upon  it  is  increased  by  its  receiving  an 
irrcf^ular  ictus.  The  alexandrine  is  one  of  the  best, 
and  most  picturesque,  in  the  poem. 

.xxiv. 

A  ca.sement  high  and  triple-arched  there  was, 

All  garlanded  with  carven  imageries 

Of  fruits,  and  Howers,  and  bunches  of  knot-grass, 

And  diamonded  with  panes  of  quaint  device, 

Innumerable  of  stains  and  splendid  dyes, 

As  are  the  tiger-moth's  deep-damasked  wings  ;  ^ 

And  in  the  midst,  "mong  thousand  heraldries. 

And  twilight  saints,  and  dim  emblazonings, 

A  shielded  scutcheon  blushed  with  blood  of  queens  and  kings.' 

'  Even  into  the  sculptured  heads  of  the  corbels  in  the  hanqucting- 
hall  the  poet  strikes  life.  —  Sidney  Colvin. 

2  A  gorgeous  jihrasc  which  leaves  the  widest  r.mgc  to  the  colour- 
imagination  of  the  reader,  giving  it  at  the  same  time  a  suflkient  clue 
liy  the  simile  drawn  from  a  particular  specimen  of  nature's  l)la/.onry. — 
Sidney  Colvin. 

•  The  word  'Mush'  makes  the  colour  seem  to  come  and  go,  while 
the  mind  is  at  the  same  time  sent  travelling  from  the  maiden's  cham- 
ber on  thoughts  of  her  lineage  and  ancestral  fame.  — SIDNEY  CoLVIN. 


AS  EMPLOYED   BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      123 

XXV. 

Full  on  this  casement  shone  the  wintry  moon, 
And  threw  warm  gules  on  Madeline's  fair  breast, 
As  down  she  knelt  for  heaven's  grace  and  boon ; 
Rose-bloom  fell  on  her  hands  together  prest, 
And  on  her  silver  cross  soft  amethyst. 
And  on  her  hair  a  glory  like  a  saint :  ^ 
She  seemed  a  splendid  angel,  newly  drest, 
Save  wings,  for  heaven  :  —  Porphyro  grew  faint. 
She  knelt,  so  pure  a  thing,  so  free  from  mortal  taint. 

XXVI. 

Anon  his  heart  revives :  her  vespers  done, 
Of  all  its  wreathed  pearls  her  hair  she  frees  ; 
Unclasps  her  warmed  jewels  one  by  one ;  "^ 
Loosens  her  fragrant  bodice :  by  degrees 
Her  rich  attire  creeps  rustling  to  her  knees : 
Half-hidden,  like  a  mermaid  in  sea-weed. 
Pensive  a  while  she  dreams  awake,  and  sees. 
In  fancy,  fair  St.  Agnes  in  her  bed. 
But  dares  not  look  behind,  or  all  the  charm  is  fled. 

XXVII. 

Soon,  trembling  in  her  soft  and  chilly  nest 
In  sort  of  wakeful  swoon,  perplexed  she  lay. 
Until  the  poppied  warmth  of  sleep  oppressed 
Her  soothed  limbs,  and  soul  fatigued  away 
Flown,  like  a  thought,  until  the  morrow  day; 

1  Observation,  I  believe,  shows  that  moonlight  has  not  the  power 
to  transmit  the  hues  of  the  painted  glass  as  Keats  in  this  celebrated 
passage  represents  it.  Let  us  be  grateful  for  the  error,  if  error  it  is, 
wljich  has  led  him  to  heighten  by  these  saintly  splendors  of  colour,  the 
sentiment  of  a  scene  wherein  a  voluptuous  glow  is  so  exquisitely 
attempered  with  chivalrous  chastity  and  awe.  —  Sidney  Colvin. 

-  When  Madeline  unclasps  her  jewels,  a  weaker  poet  would  have 
dwelt  on  their  lustre  or  other  visible  qualities;  Keats  puts  those  aside, 
and  speaks  straight  to  our  spirits  in  an  epithet  breathing  with  the  very 
life  of  the  wearer  —  '  her  warmed  jewels.'  —  Sidney  Colvin. 


124  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

Blissfully  havened  both  from  joy  and  pain  : 
Clasped  like  a  missal  where  swart  Paynims  pray ; 
Blinded  alike  from  sunshine  and  from  rain. 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again. 

XXX. 

And  still  she  slept  an  azure-lidded  sleep. 
In  blanched  linen,  smooth  and  lavendered, 
While  he  from  forth  the  closet  brought  a  heap 
Of  candied  apple,  quince,  and  plum,  and  gourd, 
With  jellies  soother  than  the  creamy  curd. 
And  lucent  syrups  tinct  with  cinnamon. 
Manna  and  dates,  in  argosy  transferred 
From  Fez ;  and  spicclid  dainties  every  one. 
From  silken  Samarcand  to  ccdared  Lebanon.' 

Probably  no  English  poet  who  has  used  the  Spen- 
serian stanza,  first  assimilated  so  fully  the  spirit  of 
Spenser,  before  using  the  stanza,  as  did  Keats ;  and 
to  this  fact  may  be  partly  attributed  his  effective  use 
of  it  as  an  organ  for  his  imagination  in  its '  lingering, 
loving,  particularizing  mood.'  His  early  friend,  Charles 
Cowden  Clarke,  who  introduced  him  to  Spenser,  de- 
.scribes  his  rapturous  enjoyment  of  the  '  Faerie  Oueene.' 
And  another  of  his  friends,  Charles  Armitage  Brown, 
states  that  the  earliest  awakening  of  his  poetical 
genius  was  due  to  Spen.scr.  '  In  Spenser's  fairyland 
he  was  enchanted,  breathed  in  a  new  world,  .  .  . 
enamoured  of  the  stanza,  he  attempted  to  imitate  it, 

'  When  Lorenzo  sprc.-ids  the  feast  of  tiainties  beside  Ills  sleejiing 
mistress,  we  are  made  to  feel  how  those  ideal  and  rare  sweets  of  sense 
surround  and  minister  to  her,  not  only  with  their  own  natural  richness, 
l>ut  with  the  associations  .ind  the  homage  of  all  far  countries  whence 
they  have  been  gathered  — 

'  From  silken  Samarcand  (o  ccdared  I.«banon.' 

—  Sidney  Colvin. 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.       125 

and  succeeded.  .  .  .  This,  his  earhest  attempt,  the 
"  Imitation  of  Spenser,"  is  in  his  first  vokime  of  poems, 
and  it  is  pecuHarly  interesting  to  those  acquainted 
with  his  history.' 

Byron's  '  Childe  Harold.' 

But  no  EngHsh  poet  has  used  the  Spenserian  stanza 
with  the  grand  vigor  with  which  Byron  has  used  it  in 
his  '  Childe  Harold.'  His  impetuous  spirit  imparts 
a  character  to  the  stanza  quite  distinct  from  its  peculiar 
Spenserian  character.  Even  the  stanzas  in  which  his 
gentler  and  more  pensive  moods  are  embodied,  bear 
little  or  no  similarity  to  the  manner  of  Spenser. 

The  two  following  stanzas,  which  were  inspired  by 
the  battlefield  of  Albuera,  are  good  examples  of  the 
Byronic  vigor : 

Hark  !  heard  you  not  those  hoofs  of  dreadful  note  ? 
Sounds  not  the  clang  of  conflict  on  the  heath  .-' 
Saw  ye  not  whom  tjie  reeking  sabre  smote, 
Nor  saved  your  brethren  ere  they  sank  beneath 
Tyrants  and  tyrants'  slaves  ?  —  the  fires  of  death. 
The  bale-fires  flash  on  high  :  — from  rock  to  rock 
Each  volley  tells  that  thousands  cease  to  breathe ; 
Death  rides  upon  the  sulphury  Siroc, 
Red  Battle  stamps  his  foot,  and  nations  feel  the  shock. 

Note,  in  this  stanza,  the  unobtrusive  but  suggestive 
effect  of  the  alliteration  which  occurs  in  each  and 
every  verse  :  *  hark,'  '  heard,'  '  hoofs  '  ;  '  clang  of  con- 
flict ' ;  '  saw,'  '  sabre,'  '  smote  ' ;  '  saved,'  '  brethren,' 
'  sank,'  '  beneath  ' ;  '  tyrants  and  tyrants'  slaves  ' ; 
'  bale-fires  flash,'  'rock  to  rock  '  ;  '  tells  that  thousands 
cease  to  breathe  ' ;  *  the  sulphury  Siroc  '  ;  '  stamps  his 
foot,'   'feel  the  shock.'     These   alliterations   are    all 


126  THE   SPEXSRRIAX  STAXZA 

taken  up  into  the  general  effect,  and  leave  no  sense 
of  trick  or  artifice.  And  there  are  some  effective 
ones  in  the  stanza  which  follows :  '  Restless  it  rolls, 
now  fixed,  and  now  anon  flashing  alar  "  ;  '  destruction,' 
'  deeds  are  done  ' ;  *  morn,'  '  meet ' ;  'to  shed  before 
his  shrine.' 

Lo  !  where  the  giant  on  the  mountain  stands. 

His  blood-red  tresses  deepening  in  the  sun, 
Witii  death-shot  glowing  in  his  tierv  hands, 

And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon. 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fixed,  and  now  anon 

Flashing  afar  —  and  at  his  iron  feet 
Destniction  cowers  to  mark  what  deeds  arc  done ; 

For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet. 

To  shed  before  his  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet. 

—  Canto  i.  st.  38,  39. 

And  the  following,  descriptive  of  a  Spanish  bull- 
fight (alliteration  is  also  in  these  an  important  element 
of  effect ;  and  so  too  are  the  exceptional  ictus  on  the 
initial  words  of  some  of  the  verseS  :  '  Hounds  with  one 
lashing  spring  the  mighty  brute  '  ;  '  Sudden  he  stops' ; 
'  Streams  from  his  flank  ' ;  *  Vain  are  his  weapons  ' ; 
'  Staggering,  but  stemming  all ' ;  '  Wraj)s  his  fierce 
eye  ' ;  '  Sheathed  in  his  form  ' ;  '  Slowly  he  falls  ' ; 
'  Hurl  the  dark  bulk')  : 

Thrice  sounds  the  clarion  ;  lo!  the  signal  AiFls, 

The  den  ex])ands.  and  Kxpectation  mute 

Ga|)cs  round  the  silent  circle's  peojiled  walls. 

Bounds  with  one  lashing  spring  the  mighty  brute. 

And,  wilding  staring,  spurns,  with  sounding  foot, 

The  .sand,  nor  blindly  nishes  on  his  foe  : 

Here,  there,  he  jjoints  his  threatening  front,  to  suit 

His  first  attack,  wide  waving  to  and  fro 

His  angry  tail ;  red  rolls  his  eye's  dilated  glow. 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      izy 

Sudden  he  stops  ;  his  eye  is  fixed  :  away, 

Away,  thou  heedless  boy!  prepare  the  spear: 

Now  is  thy  time  to  perish,  or  display 

The  skill  that  yet  may  check  his  mad  career. 

With  well-timed  croupe  the  nimble  coursers  veer ; 

On  foams  the  bull,  but  not  unscathed  he  goes ; 

Streams  from  his  flank  the  crimson  torrent  clear : 

He  flies,  he  wheels,  distracted  with  his  throes  ; 

Dart  follows  dart ;  lance,  lance  ;  loud  bellowings  speak  his  woes. 

Again  he  comes  ;  nor  dart  nor  lance  avail, 

Nor  the  wild  plunging  of  the  tortured  horse  ; 

Though  man  and  man's  avenging  arms  assail, 

Vain  are  his  weapons,  vainer  is  his  force. 

One  gallant  steed  is  stretched  a  mangled  corse ; 

Another,  hideous  sight!  unseamed  appears. 

His  gory  chest  unveils  life's  panting  source  ; 

Though  death-struck,  still  his  feeble  frame  he  rears ; 

Staggering,  but  stemming  all,  his  lord  unharmed  he  bears. 

Foiled,  bleeding,  breathless,  furious  to  the  last. 

Full  in  the  centre  stands  the  bull  at  bay. 

Mid  wounds  and  clinging  darts,  and  lances  brast. 

And  foes  disabled  in  the  brutal  fray : 

And  now  the  Matadores  around  him  play. 

Shake  the  red  cloak  and  poise  the  ready  brand  : 

Once  more  through  all  he  bursts  his  thundering  way  — 

Vain  rage!  the  mantle  quits  the  conynge  hand. 

Wraps  his  fierce  eye  —  His  past  —  he  sinks  upon  the  sand! 

Where  his  vast  neck  just  mingles  with  the  spine. 
Sheathed  in  his  form  the  deadly  weapon  lies. 
He_  stops  —  he  starts  —  disdaining  to  decline  : 
Slowly  he  falls,  amidst  triumphant  cries, 
Without  a  groan,  without  a  stmggle  dies. 
The  decorated  car  appears  —  on  high 
The  corse  is  piled  —  sweet  sight  for  vulgar  eyes  — 
Four  steeds  that  spurn  the  rein,  as  swift  as  shy. 
Hurl  the  dark  bulk  along,  scarce  seen  in  dashing  by. 

—  Canto  i.  St.  Ixxv.-lxxix. 


128  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

Some  of  Byron's  finest  stanzas  were  inspired  by 
the  sea.  The  following  has  the  sweep  of  the  surge 
in  it : 

Once  more  upon  the  waters!  yet  once  more! 

And  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  a  steed 

That  knows  his  rider.     Welcome,  to  the  roar! 

Swift  be  their  guidance,  wheresoe'er  it  lead! 

Though  the  strained  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed, 

And  the  rent  canvas  fluttering  strew  the  gale, 

Still  must  I  on ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed. 

Flung  from  the  rock,  on  Ocean's  foam,  to  sail 

Where'er  the  surge  may  sweep,  the  tempest's  breath  prevail. 

—  Canto  iii.  st.  ii. 

The  stanzas  descriptive  of  the  ball  at  Hr'ussels,  and 
of  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  are  among  the  most 
spirited  in  '  Childe  Harold  ' : 

There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night. 

And  Belgium's  capital  had  gathereil  then 

Her  Beauty  and  her  Chivalry,  and  bright 

The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men  ; 

A  thousand  hearts  beat  happily ;  and  when 

Music  arose  with  its  voluptuous  swell. 

Soft  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  which  .spoke  .igain. 

And  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage-bell ; 

But  hush!  hark!  a  deep  .sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell! 

Did  ye  not  hear  it  ? —  No ;  'twas  but  the  wind 

Or  the  car  rattling  o'er  the  stony  street ; 

On  with  the  dance!  let  joy  be  unconfincd  : 

No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 

To  chase  the  glowing  Hours  with  flying  feet  — 

But,  hark!  —  that  heavy  sound  breaks  in  once  more, 

As  if  the  clouds  its  echo  would  repeat  ; 

And  nearer,  clearer,  deadlier  than  before! 

Arm!  Arm!  it  is  —  it  is  —  the  cannon's  opening  roar! 


AS  EMPLOYED   BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      1 29 

Within  a  windowed  niche  of  that  high  hall 

Sate  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain ;  he  did  hear 

That  sound  the  first  amidst  the  festival, 

And  caught  its  tone  with  Death's  prophetic  ear ; 

And  when  they  smiled  because  he  deemed  it  near, 

His  heart  more  truly  knew  that  peal  too  well 

Which  stretched  his  father  on  a  bloody  bier, 

And  roused  the  vengeance  blood  alone  could  quell : 

He  rushed  into  the  field,  and,  foremost  fighting,  fell. 

The  alliteration  in  the  alexandrine  of  this  stanza  is 
effective. 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  :  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car. 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war ; 
And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar ; 
And  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  up  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star ; 
While  thronged  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or  whispering,  with  white  lips— 'The  foe!     They  come!  they 
come!' 

—  Canto  iii.  st.  xxi.-xxiii.  xxv. 

But  even  finer  than  these  are  the  stanzas  descrip- 
tive of  a  thunderstorm  in  the  Alps.  They  could  only 
have  been  written  out  of  a  most  inspiring  sympathy 
with  the  storm.  The  chords  of  the  instrument  are 
struck  with  an  unerring  vigor : 

The  sky  is  changed!  and  such  a  change!  O  night, 

And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong. 

Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 

Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman!     Far  along. 

From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among. 


I30  THE  SPENSEJilAX  STANZA 

Leaps  the  live  thunder!     Not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers,  tlirough  her  misty  shroud. 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud! 

And  this  is  in  the  night :  —  most  glorious  night! 
Thou  wcrt  not  sent  for  slumber!  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight,  — 
A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee!  * 
How  the  lit  lake  shines,  a  phosphoric  sea, 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth! 
And  now  again  'tis  black,  —  and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain-mirth. 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o'er  a  young  earthquake's  birth. 

—  Can(o  iii.  St.  xcii.  xciii. 

In  contrast  with  the  impetuous  spirit  eriibodied  in 
all  the  preceding  stanzas,  is  the  gentle  mood  which 
informs  the  following  stanza,  descriptive  of  a  quiet 
night-scene  on  Lake  Lcman  : 

It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 

Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dark,  yet  clear, 

.Mellowed  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen. 

Save  darkened  Jura,  whose  capt  heights  appear 

Precipitously  steep ;  and  drawing  near. 

There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore. 

Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood  ;  on  the  ear 

Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar. 

Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-nigiit  carol  more. 

—  Canto  iii.  tt.  Uxxvi. 

Perhaps  the  most  delicious  stanzas  in  '  Childe 
Harold'  are  those  descriptive  oi  the  fountain  of 
Kgeria : 

'  The  thundcr-stcjrm  to  which  these  lines  refer  occurred  on  the  13th 
of  June,  1816,  at  inidnifjht.     I   have  seen,  aiming  the  Acmceraunian 
mountains  of  t.  him.iri,  stvcral  more  terrible,  but  none  more  beautiful. 
—  liVKoK'h  i\'oU. 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      131 

Egeria  !  sweet  creation  of  some  heart 

Which  found  no  mortal  resting-place  so  fair 

As  thine  ideal  breast ;  whate'er  thou  art 

Or  wert,  —  a  young  Aurora  of  the  air, 

The  nympholepsy  of  some  fond  despair; 

Or,  it  might  be,  a  beauty  of  the  earth. 

Who  found  a  more  than  common  votary  there 

Too  much  adoring;  whatsoe'er  thy  birth, 

Thou  wert  a  beautiful  thought,  and  softly  bodied  forth. 

The  mosses  of  thy  fountain  still  are  sprinkled 

With  thine  Elysian  water-drops  ;  the  face 

Of  thy  cave-guarded  spring,  with  years  unwrinkled. 

Reflects  the  meek-eyed  genius  of  the  place. 

Whose  green,  wild  margin  now  no  more  erase 

Art's  works ;  nor  must  the  delicate  waters  sleep. 

Prisoned  in  marble  ;  bubbling  from  the  base 

Of  the  cleft  statue,  with  a  gentle  leap 

The  rill  runs  o'er,  and  round,  fern,  flowers,  and  ivy,  creep. 

Fantastically  tangled ; 

Here  the  alexandrine  is  not  sufficient  to  fill  out  the 
measure  of  the  poet's  musing  on  the  creeping  ferns 
and  ivies,  and  so  it  runs  uninterruptedly  on  into  the 
middle  of  the  first  verse  of  the  next  stanza  : 

The  rill  runs  o'er,  and  round,  fern,  flowers,  and  ivy  creep. 

Fantastically  tangled  ;  the  green  hills 

Are  clothed  with  early  blossoms,  through  the  grass 

The  quick-eyed  lizard  rustles,  and  the  bills 

Of  summer-birds  sing  welcome  as  ye  pass  ; 

Flowers  fresh  in  hue,  and  many  in  their  class. 

Implore  the  pausing  step,  and  with  their  dyes 

Dance  in  the  soft  breeze  in  a  fairy  mass  ; 

The  sweetness  of  the  violet's  deep-blue  eyes. 

Kissed  by  the  breath  of  heaven,  seems  coloured  by  its  skies. 

—  Canto  iv.  st.  cxv.-cxvii 


132  THE   SPENSERIAN  STANZA 

Tennyson's  ' Lotos-Eaters' 

The  first  five  stanzas  of  Tennyson's  '  Lotos- Eaters  ' 
are  Spenserian,  and  they  are  quite  unique  in  charac- 
ter. One  familiar  with  the  *  Faerie  Queene '  and  with 
all  other  poems  in  the  literature  in  which  the  stanza 
is  used,  might  read  these  five  stanzas  many  times 
without  thinking  of  their  being  Spenserian  in  con- 
struction. All  the  prolongable  vowels  of  the  language 
predominate ;  and  many  of  these  are  encased  in  a 
framework  of  prolongable  consonants.  A  long-drawn 
time,  and  a  peculiar  toning  are  thus  imparted  to  the 
verse,  which  subserve  most  effectively  the  theme  of 
the  poem.     The  following  is  the  third  stanza : 

The  charmed  .sunset  lingered  low  adown 

In  the  red  West:  through  mountain  clefts  the  dale 

Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 

Bordered  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 

And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale ; 

A  land  where  all  things  always  seemed  the  same! 

And  round  a!)out  the  keel  with  faces  i^ale. 

Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame. 

The  mild-eyed  melancholy  Lotos-eaters  came. 

The  many  examples  which  have  been  given  of  the 
Spenserian  .stanza,  from  Spenser,  Thomson,  Shelley, 
Keats,  Hyron,  and  Tennyson,  bear  testimony  to  its 
almost  unlimited  capabilities.  Hut  a  comjiaratively 
small  part  of  those  cai^abilities  have  been  illustrated. 
There  is  certainly  no  other  group  of  rhyming  verses 
in  the  literature,  which  surj)asses  it  in  cajxibilities. 
This  stanza,  the  dramatic  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare, 
in  its  most  advanced  development,  and  the  epic  blank 


AS  EMPLOYED  BY  SUBSEQUENT  POETS.      133 

verse  of  Milton,  with  its  unlimited  capacity  of  varied 
grouping,  are  the  noblest  poetic  forms  which  have 
been  developed  in  English  literature. 
.  After  reading  the  several  poems  enumerated,  written 
in  the  Spenserian  stanza,  the  student  may  not  be  able 
to  formulate  very  distinctly  his  impressions  of  the 
differences  in  tone,  color,  and  moulding-spirit  which 
they  exhibit ;  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  he  should 
do  so.  The  important  thing  is  that  he  have  a  decided 
consciousness  of  these  differences ;  he  may  then  rest 
content  with  a  very  general  formulation  of  them,  or 
with  no  formulation  at  all.  The  tendency  toward  a 
precipitation  of  what  is  held  in  solution,  in  a  poetical 
composition,  and  a  crystallization  of  it  into  the  abstract, 
needs  no  special  encouragement  in  these  days.  One 
aim  of  literary  culture  should  be,  to  make  the  con- 
crete, as  far  as  possible,  a  direct  language  ;  rather  than 
to  regard  it  as  a  foreign  language  to  be  translated 
into  the  more  familiar  language  of  the  intellect.  The 
spiritual  nature  can  be  vitalized  only  through  the  con- 
crete, and  the  personal  —  through  a  sympathetic 
assimilation  of  these.  Without  a  susceptibility  to 
form,  no  one  can  come  into  the  most  intimate  rela- 
tionship with  a  product  of  poetic  genius.  He  may 
know  its  articulating  thought ;  but  its  essential  life  is 
something  other  than  that. 


IX. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA  ON 
OTHER  MODES  OF  STANZA-STRUCTURE. 

SPENSKR'S  effective  use  of  the  ale.\andrine  caused 
this  verse  to  be  used  by  many  succeeding  i)oets 
as  a  final  verse  to  their  stanzas,  for  the  purpose  of 
securing  a  strong  terminal  emphasis,  and  of  imparting 
a  long-drawn-out  close. 

Two  professed  imitators  of  Spenser  employ  it, 
Phineas  Fletcher,  in  his  '  Purple  Island  '  (1633,  but 
written  some  years  earlier),  and  Giles  Fletcher,  called 
'the  Sjienser  of  his  age,'  in  his  'Christ's  Victory  and 
Triumi)h  '  (1640). 

The  stanza  of  the  '  Purjile  Island  '  is  composed  of 
seven  verses,  six  being  S-t'r/,  and  the  seventh  an  alexan. 
drine.  The  rhyme-scheme  is  alkilh'cc.  The  last  three 
verses  rhyming  together,  the  resulting  rhyme-emphasis 
mars  the  emphasis-.symmetry  of  the  stanza,  es|)ecially 
when  the  rhymes  are  double  rhymes,  as  they  frequently 
are.  For  example  (the  poet  is  describing  the  happi- 
ness of  the  shepherd's  life)  : 

His  bed  of  wool  yields  safe  aiui  (|uit't  slcc'iis, 
While  by  his  side  his  faithful  spouse  hath  place; 
His  little  son  into  his  bosom  creeps, 
The  lively  picture  of  his  father's  face  : 
Never  his  huml)le  house  nor  state  torment  him  : 
Less  he  could  like,  if  less  his  (iod  had  sent  him  ; 
And  when  he  dies,  green  turfs,  with  grassy  tomb,  content  him. 
"34 


INFLUENCE   OF  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA.       1 35 

The  terminal  rhyme-emphasis  here  is  too  pronounced, 
and  makes  the  stanza  lop-sided  ;  the  rhymes  have  a 
thumping  effect  which  is  almost  ludicrous. 
'  The  stanza  of  '  Christ's  Victory  and  Triumph  '  is 
composed  of  eight  verses,  seven  being  5  xa,  and  the 
eighth,  an  alexandrine.  The  rhyme-scheme  is  ababbccc. 
The  emphasis-symmetry  of  the  stanza  is  somewhat 
better  than  that  of  the  'Purple  Island,'  by  reason  of 
the  fifth  verse  receiving  a  second  rhyme,  which  serves 
to  graduate  somewhat  the  rhyme-emphasis  of  the 
stanza. 

The  following  stanza  is  a  little  above  the  average 

in  merit : 

Witness  the  thunder  that  mount  Sinai  heard. 
When  all  the  hill  with  fiery  clouds  did  flame, 
And  wandering  Israel,  with  the  sight  afeard, 
Blinded  with  seeing,  durst  not  touch  the  same. 
But  like  a  wood  of  shaking  leaves  became. 
On  this  dead  Justice,  she,  the  Living  Law, 
Bowing  herself  with  a  majestic  awe. 
All  heaven,  to  hear  her  speech,  did  into  silence  draw. 

Sometimes  the  rhyme  in  the  last  three  verses  is 
on  the  same  vowel  as  that  of  one  of  the  rhymes  of 
the  first  five,  and  the  assonance  is  felt  to  be  exces- 
sive ;  and  worse,  still,  the  rhyme  (evidently  by 
chance)  in  the  last  three  verses  is  sometimes  a  con- 
tinuation of  one  of  the  first  five.  The  following 
stanza  affords  an  example  of  this,  in  which  there  is 
also  a  repetition  of  a  final  word  (wore)  : 

About  her  head  a  cypress  heaven  she  wore. 
Spread  like  a  veil,  upheld  with  silver  wire. 
In  which  the  stars  so  burnt  in  golden  ore. 
As  seemed  the  azure  web  was  all  on  fire : 


136      INFLUENCE  OF  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 

But  hastily,  to  quench  their  sparkling  ire. 
A  flood  of  milk  came  rolling  up  the  shore, 
That  on  his  curded  wave  swift  Argus  wore. 
And  the  immortal  swan,  that  did  her  life  deplore. 

There  is  too  much  of  a  good  thing  here  in  the  way 
of  rhyme. 

Double  rhymes  also  occur  in  the  last  three  verses 
of  stanzas,  in  '  Christ's  Victory  and  Triumph,'  which 
have  the  thumjiing  effect  illustrated  by  the  stanza 
given  from  the  other  poem. 

The  rhyme-schemes  of  both  poems  are  quite  arbi- 
trary. There  is  no  justification  of  the  accumulated 
rhyme-emphasis  at  the  end  of  the  stanzas. 

Milton,  who  was  a  lover  of  Spenser,  and,  as  is 
evident,  caught  from  him  many  metrical  effects  and 
graces,  has  some  beautiful  alexandrines  in  liis  ode 
'On  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Nativity.' 

In  the  stanza  employed,  fine  effects  arc  secured 
through  the  varied  metres  and  the  disposition  of  the 
rhymes. 

The  verse  is  regularly  xa. 

The  first,  second,  fourth,  and  fifth  verses  are  tri- 
meter (3;r^). 

The  third  and  si.xth  are  pentameter  {^xa). 

The  seventh  is  tetrameter  {^xa). 

The  eighth  is  hexameter  or  alexandrine  {dxa). 

Each  metre  in  the  stanza  derives  some  effect  from 
the  other  metres,  the  theme-metre  being  3,177. 

The  rhyme-scheme  is  aabccbdd. 

The  structure  of  the  stanza,  and  the  beauty  and 
effectiveness  of  the  closing  alexandrine  are  well  illu.s- 
trated  by  the  following  stanzas : 


INFLUENCE   OF  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA.       137 

V. 

But  peaceful  was  the  night, 
Wherein  the  Prince  of  light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began  : 
The  winds  with  wonder  whist, 
Smoothly  the  waters  kist, 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean. 
Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave. 
While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  charmed  wave. 

IX. 

When  such  music  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet, 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook  ; 
Divinely  warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took : 
The  air.  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose. 
With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close. 

XVI. 

But  wisest  Fate  says  No 
This  must  not  yet  be  so  ; 

The  Babe  yet  lies  in  smiling  infancy  « 

That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss, 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify  : 
Yet  first,  to  those  ychained  in  sleep, 
The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the  deep.^ 

XX. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er, 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament ; 
From  haunted  spring,  and  dale 
Edged  with  poplar  pale. 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent ; 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn. 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 

1  This  reminds  uf  the   fine  verse  in  'Paradise    Lost,'  i.  177:  'To 
bellow  through  the  vast  and  boundless  deep.' 


138       IXFI.UENCE   OF  THE  SPEXSEK/AX  S/AXZA. 

The  stanza  of  Milton's  elegy  '  On  the  death  of  a 
fair  infant,'  and  of  '  The  Passion,'  distinctly  reflects 
the  Spenserian  stanza.  It  is  composed  of  six  5.17/ 
verses  and  an  alexandrine,  the  rhyme-scheme  being 
(thabbic. 

The  following  is  the  fifth  stanza  of  the  elegy : 

Yet  can  I  not  persuade  me  thou  art  dead, 

Or  that  thy  corse  corrupts  in  earth's  dark  womb, 

Or  that  thy  beauties  lie  in  wormy  bed 

Hid  from  the  world  in  a  low-deIv6d  tomb ; 

Could  Heaven  for  pity  thee  so  strictly  '  doom  ? 

Oh  no!  for  something  in  thy  face  did  shine 

Above  mortality,  that  showed  thou  wast  divine. 

This  is  a  much  superior  stanza  to  the  stanza  of 
Phineas  Fletcher's  *  Purple  Island,'  and  of  Giles 
Fletcher's  '  Christ's  Victory  and  Triumj^h,'  the  rhyme- 
schemes  of  which  are  abahccc  and  ababbccc,  respec- 
tively. 

One  of  Pojie's  alexandrines,  a  qtiite  Spenserian 
one,  should  he  noticed  here.  It  occurs  in  his  trans- 
lation ^of  the  '  Odyssey,'  in  the  description  of  the  labor 
of  Si.syphus  (Hk.  xi.  735-738);  and  note  the  mono- 
syllabic second  verse,  with  its  suggestive  aspirates. 
The  exceptional  ictus  on  the  initial  word  '  Thunders  ' 
of  the  alexandrine,  is  also  effective  : 

With  many  a  weary  step  and  many  a  groan, 
L'))  the  high  hill  he  heaves  a  huge  round  stone  : 
The  huge  round  stone,  resulting  with  a  iiound. 
Thunders  impetuous  down,  and  smokes  along  the  ground. 

'  Mrictly  :  strmlly,  narrowly ;  rtlcrrnn;  lu  '  luw  dclvcil  luiiib.' 


INFLUENCE   OF  THE  SPENSER  TAN  STANZA.       139 

This  is  certainly  not  what  Pope,  in  his  'Essay  on 
Criticism  '  {v.  356),  calls  'a  needless  alexandrine/ 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along. 

One  other  offspring  of  the  Spenserian  stanza  must 
be  noticed  —  an  unworthy  one  —  namely,  that  of 
Matthew  Prior's  '  Ode  on  the  battle  of  Ramillies  ' 
(1706).  It  is  composed  of  two  quatrains,  with  inde- 
pendent alternate  rhyme-schemes,  and  a  couplet  of  a 
pentameter  and  an  alexandrine,  the  rhyme-scheme 
being  ababcdcdee.  By  adding  a  verse  to  the  Spen- 
serian stanza,  Prior  thought  that  he  '  made  the  num- 
ber more  harmo7iio7is.''  Guest  remarks  (*  History  of 
English  Rhythms,'  Vol.  2,  p.  394)  :  '  Had  he  stated 
facility  to  be  his  aim,  he  had  shown  more  honesty. 
He  has  escaped  the  difficulties  of  Spenser's  stanza, 
but  at  the  same  time  has  sacrificed  all  its  science  and 
not  a  little  of  its  beauty.' 

Doctor  Johnson  speaks  of  Prior's  stanza  as  '  an 
uniform  mass  of  ten  lines  thirty-five  times  repeated. 
.  .  .  He  has  altered  the  stanza  of  Spenser,  as  a 
house  is  altered  by  building  another  in  its  place  of  a 
different  form.' 

It  will  be  found  worth  while  to  read  some  of  these 
thirty-five  stanzas,  along  with  some  of  Spenser's,  in 
order  to  feel  very  distinctly  the  difference  between 
an  organic  structure  of  verse  and  a  mechanical  one. 

One  of  the  most  notable  lyrical  stanzas  in  English 
poetry,  in  which  a  final  alexandrine  is  employed  in 
the  service  of  the  lyrical  gush,  is  that  of  Shelley's 
'  Ode  to  a  Skylark.' 


I40       INFLUENCE  OF  THE  SPEXSEKIA.V  STANZA. 

The  stanza  of  this  beautiful  ode  is  composed  of 
five  verses.  The  rhythm  of  the  first  four  is  ax,  and 
the  metre  is  trimeter,  the  third  and  fourth  verses 
being  catalectic  or  defective  (that  is,  the  last  foot 
lacks  the  light  syllable).  The  fifth  verse  is  an  alex- 
andrine {6xa),  the  rhythm  being  the  reverse  of  that 
of  the  other  verses.  This  verse  also  receives  a  second 
rhyme,  rhyming*\vith  the  second  and  fourth  verses  of 
the  stanza,  —  the  rhyme-scheme  being  ababb.  Here, 
then,  are  nearly  all  the  means  of  enforcement  em- 
ployed upon  the  concluding  verse:  i.  It  is  double 
the  length  of  the  other  verses  (more  than  double  that 
of  the  second  and  fourth)  ;  2.  Its  rhythm  is  the 
reverse  of  that  of  the  other  verses ;  3.  A  second 
rhyme  falls  upon  it ;  4.  The  ])oet  has,  in  most  cases, 
imparted  to  it  an  extra  vowel  and  consonant  melody. 
The  effect  of  the  ode,  when  read  aloud,  is  that  of  a 
succession  of  strong  gu.shes  of  feeling. 

To  revert  to  what  has  been  said  in  regard  to  the 
unifying  action  of  feeling :  the  stronger,  more  impet- 
uous, more  lyrical  the  emotion  of  the  jioet,  the  more 
compact  will  be  the  resultant  unities ;  the  rhythm, 
which  is  a  succession  of  the  primal  unities,  will  be 
more  marked  ;  verses  will  be  more  strongly  individu- 
alized by  means  of  melody  and  rhyme,  and  other 
means  to  which  attention  has  been  called  ;  and 
stanzas  will  be  more  clo.sely  bound  together  by  means 
of  harmony,  rhyme,  etc. 

As  poetical  emotion  descends  and  thought  ascends, 
these  unities,  where  the  form  is  organic,  not  mechani- 
cal, become  looser,  so  to  speak,  until,  as  in  Shake- 
speare's  more    mature    dramatic    blank    verse,   their 


INFLUENCE   OF  THE  SPENSERIAN  STANZA.       141 

outlines  arc  quite  lost,  and  the  language  is  little  more 
than  faintly  throbbing  prose. 

I- 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart, 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

II. 

Higher  still  and  higher 

From  the  earth  thou  springest. 
Like  a  cloud  of  fire 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing,  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring,  ever  singest. 

XII. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain-awakened  flowers. 

All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  surpass. 

XXI. 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know  ; 
Such  harmonious  madness 

Through  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then  as  I  am  listening  now. 

The  analyses  which  have  been  presented  of  some 
of  the  more  important  stanzas  of  English  poetry,  will 
enable  the  student,  it  is  hoped,  to  analyze  other 
stanzas,  and  to  show  their  peculiar  capabilities. 

The  organic  character  of  a  stanza  must,  of  course, 
first  be  felt.     A  cold-blooded  analysis  avails  nothing. 


\4-       hVFI.UENCE   OF   THE  SPENSERIAX  STAXZA. 

The  true  object  of  an  analysis  is  to  discover  some  of 
the  secrets  of  an  effect  previously  experienced. 

But  a  stanza  may  have  been  arbitrarily  adopted. 
Even  then,  its  want  of  adaptedness  to  the  theme 
must  first  be  felt ;  and  it  will  be  the  object  of  analysis 
to  show  that  it  is  a  ready-made,  ill-fittinj;  vesture, 
rather  than  an  organic  form  moulded  by  feeling. 


X. 

THE   SONNET. 

ENGLISH  Poetry  is  indebted  to  the  Italian  for 
one  of  its  most  important  art-forms,  which,  under 
various  modifications,  has  been  employed  by  several 
of  the  greatest  of  English  poets  for  the  embodiment 
of  some  of  their  subtlest  feelings,  and  noblest  and 
most  spiritualized  thoughts.  In  his  sonnet  on  the 
'  Sonnet,'  Wordsworth,  the  greatest  of  English  Son- 
neteers, says : 

with  this  key 

Shakespeare  unlocked  his  heart ;  .  .  . 

a  glowworm  lamp. 
It  ciieered  mild  Spenser,  called  from  Faery  Land 
To  struggle  with  dark  ways ;  and  when  a  damp 
Fell  round  the  path  of  Milton,  in  his  hand 
The  thing  became  a  trumpet,  whence  he  blew 
Soul -animating  strains  —  alas,  too  few"! 

And  in  another  of  his  sonnets,  he  says : 

to  me, 
In  sundry  moods,  'twas  pastime  to  be  bound 
Within  the  Sonnet's  scanty  plot  of  ground  : 
Pleased  if  some  Souls  (for  such  there  needs  must  be) 
Who  have  felt  the  weight  of  too  much  liberty. 
Should  find  brief  solace  there,  as  I  have  found. 

After  setting  forth   the  strict  rules  to   which  the 
sonnet  is  subject,  Archbishop   Trench  asks:   'What 

143 


144  THE   SONNET. 

are  the  advantages  which  the  sonnet  offers  to  com- 
pensate for  the  difficulties  which  it  presents,  for  the 
restraints  which  it  imposes?  Why  has  the  sonnet 
been,  with  poets  at  least,  I  speak  not  now  of  their 
readers,  so  favourite  a  metre  ?  They  have,  in  the 
first  place,  felt,  no  doubt,  the  advantage  of  that  check 
to  diffuseness,  that  necessity  of  condensation  and  con- 
centration which  these  narrow  limits  impose.  Often- 
times a  poem  which,  except  for  these,  would  have 
been  but  a  loose  nebulous  vajjour,  has  been  com- 
pressed and  rounded  into  a  star.  .  .  .  The  sonnet, 
like  a  Grecian  temple,  may  be  limited  in  its  scope, 
but  like  that,  if  successful,  it  is  altogether  jicrfect.' 

The  greatest  of  the  Italian  sonnet  writers  are 
Petrarch,  Dante,  Tasso,  Ario.sto,  Michel  Angelo,  and 
Vittoria  Colonna ;  and  to  these  masters  we  must 
look  for  the  best  types  of  this  poetical  structure. 
And  it  will  be  found  that  those  sonnets,  in  English 
poetry,  which  conform  most  closely  to  these  types, 
in  form  and  function,  are,  in  general,  the  most  satis- 
fying, though  it  will  be  seen  that  many  of  the  noblest 
English  sonnets  violate,  in  some  respects,  the  Italian 
sonnet  legislation,  while  .securing  the  peculiar  art- 
effect  of  the  sonnet. 

That  jjeculiar  art-effect,  in  its  best  and  deepest 
form,  is  well,  though  somewhat  loftily,  expressed  in 
the  sestet  of  a  sonnet  by  Theodore  Watts,  entitled 
'  The  Sonnet's  Voice.  A  metrical  lesson  by  the  sea- 
shore ' : 

Yon  silvery  l)illo\vs  l)reakinj^  on  iIil-  hcach 

Fall  back  in  foam  beneath  the  star-shine  clear. 
The  while  my  rhymes  are  murmuriny  in  your  ear 

A  restless  lore  like  that  the  billows  teach  ; 


THE   SONNET.  1 45 

For  on  these  sonnet-waves  my  soul  would  reach 
From  its  own  depths,  and  rest  within  you,  dear. 
As,  through  the  billowy  voices  yearning  here 

Great  Nature  strives  to  find  a  human  speech. 

A  sonnet  is  a  wave  of  melody  : 

From  heaving  waters  of  the  impassioned  soul 

A  billow  of  tidal  music  one  and  whole 
Flows  in  the  '  octave  ' ;  then,  returning  free, 

Its  ebbing  surges  in  the  '  sestet '  roll 
Back  to  the  deeps  of  Life's  tumultuous  sea.^ 

The  perfection  to  which  the  sonnet  has  been  brought, 
in  the  land  of  its  birth,  and  its  extensive  use  by  all 
grades  of  poetical  ability,  testify  to  the  intrinsic  value 
of  it  as  a  poetical  organ,  and  the  high  estimation  in 
which  it  has  for  centuries  been  held.  And  this  high 
estimation,  while  it  has  resulted  in  many  '  a  thing 
of  beauty '  which  will  be  '  a  joy  forever,'  has  also 
resulted  in  the  production  of  thousands  of  worthless 
specimens,  by  poetasters  who  made  of  it  a  literary 
plaything. 

In  the  production  of  a  sonnet  of  triumphant  success, 
heart,  head,  and  hand  must  be  right.  If  they  are  not, 
there  is  no  other  poetical  form  which  is  such  a  tell- 
tale, and  which  so  reveals  all  the  shortcomings  and 
disqualifications  of  its  author.  '  Apart  from  all  sanc- 
tioris,  the  student  of  poetry  knows  that  no  form  of 
verse  is  a  surer  touchstone  of  mastery  than  this,  which 
is  so  easy  to  write  badly,  so  supremely  difficult  to 
write  well,  so  full  both  of  hindrance  and  of  occasion 

'  First  published  in  the  London  Atheturum,  September  17th,  1881, 
and  quoted  in  preface  (p.  xxi)  of  Sonnets  of  Three  Centuries.'  Edited 
by  T.  Hall  Caine,  London,  1882. 


146  THE   SONNET. 

in  all  matters  of  structure  and  style  ;  neither  any  a 
more  searching  test  of  inspiration,  since  on  the  one 
hand  it  seems  to  provoke  the  affectations  of  ingenuity, 
and  on  the  other  hand  it  has  been  chosen  by  the 
greatest  men  of  all  as  the  medium  for  their  most 
intimate,  direct,  and  overwhelming  self-disclosures.' ^ 
'  The  steadiness  of  hand  and  clearness  of  mind  re- 
quired for  rounding  into  the  invariable  limit  of  fourteen 
iambic  lines  some  weighty  matter  of  thought  or 
delicate  subtlety  of  feeling  is  not  easy  to  overrate.'* 

The  first  requirement  of  a  sonnet  is  that  it  consist 
of  fourteen  5  xa  verses.  The  second  is,  that  these 
fourteen  verses  be  ^;;^'V7///W7//j'  divided  into  an  octave 
and  a  sestet  (the  former  subdivided  into  two  quatrains, 
the  latter  into  two  tercets)  ;  which  organic  divisions 
must  have  distinct  rhyme-schemes,  as  exponents  of 
their  separate  functions.  Furthermore,  the  rhymes 
in  the  sestet  must  not  clash  in  any  way  with  those  in 
the  octave.  Their  vowels  should  be  different,  and  so 
should  their  consonant  framework,  otherwise  the  dis- 
tinctness of  the  two  rhyme-schemes  is  somewhat 
reduced. 

Hut  there  are  hundreds  of  English  .sonnets  which 
have  the  two  distinct  rhyme-schemes  required,  while 
there  is  no  turn  or  change  in  the  subject-matter  of 
the  sestet  from  that  of  the  octave.  In  such  case  they 
are  without  any  organic  significance.  They  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  constitution  of  the  poem.  The 
poet  has  simply  adopted  the  normal  number  of  verses 

'   Tht  Westmittiter  Rn'inv,  January,  1871,  p.  78. 
'  •  (Jur  Living  Poets,  An  I'juay  in  Crititisni,'  l»y  H.  Huxtun  Korman, 
l>   209. 


THE   SONNET.  147 

and  the  rhyme-schemes  of  a  poetical  art-structure, 
which  are  not  called  for  by  the  character  of  his 
composition. 

Tomlinson  ^  gives  the  three  types  (according  to  the 
order  of  the  rhymes)  to  which  the  greater  number  of 
the  best  Italian  sonnets  conform. 

The  rhyme-schemes  of  the  three  types  are  the  fol- 
lowing, those  of  the  octaves  being  the  same  in  all : 

Type  I.  abbaabba  cdecde 
Type  II.  abbaabba  cdcdcd 
Type  III.  abbaabba    cdedce 

He  shows  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  sonnets 
of  Petrarch,  Dante,  Michel  Angelo,  Tasso,  Ariosto, 
and  Vittoria  Colonna,  conform  to  one  or  other  of 
these  three  types.  The  departures  from  them  are 
chiefly  the  following : 

A  very  small  number  of  sonnets  have  their  oc- 
taves in  alternate  rhyme :  abababab;  the  rhymes  of 
the  second  quatrain  being  sometimes  reversed,  abab- 
baba. 

The  exceptional  rhyme-schemes  of  the  sestets  are 

the  following: 

cdccdc 

cdddc  c 

cdeedc 

cdedec 

cde  ced 

cde  ecd 

I'The  Sonnet:  its  Origin,  Structure,  and  Place  in  Poetry.  With 
original  translations  from  the  sonnets  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  etc.,  and 
remarks  on  the  art  of  translating.  By  Charles  Tomlinson,  F.R.S.' 
London,  John  Murray,  1874. 


148  rilE   SONNET. 

But  the  number  of  sonnets  whose  sestets  exhibit 
one  or  other  of  these  exceptional  rhyme-schemes  is 
comparatively  small. 

After  noting  the  metrical  arrangements  of  760 
sonnets,  by  the  above-named  poets,  he  remarks : 
'  The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  these  statements 
is,  that  the  Italian  sonnet  is  a  poem  of  regular  con- 
struction. It  is  not  what  some  of  our  best  English 
poets  make  it,  namely,  a  short  continuous  poem,  run- 
ning through,  from  the  first  line  to  the  last,  in  almost 
any  order,  and  winding  up  with  a  couplet ;  but  built 
up  of  parts  or  quatrains,  the  Basi,  or  bases,  of  the 
structure  ;  and  of  tercets,  or  Volte,  turnings  or  roads 
to  which  the  hasi  point.  Moreover,  each  quatrain 
has  its  peculiar  office  or  function,  as  well  as  each 
tercet,  and  hence  they  should  be  kept  distinct,  and 
not  be  run  into  each  other,  — (as  distinct  as  the  sepa- 
rate parts  of  the  Greek  choral  ode,  which  has  been 
supposed  by  some  to  be  the  parent  of  the  regular 
Italian  sonnet  ;)the  first  quatrain  being  equivalent  to 
the  strophe,  the  second  to  the  antistrophe ;  the  first 
tercet  to  the  epode,  and  the  second  tercet  to  the 
antipode.' 

The  great  luiglish  poets  who  have  most  con- 
formed to  the  normal  Italian  type,  in  the  rhyme- 
schemes,  and  in  observing  a  distinction  in  the  functions 
of  the  octaves  and  the  sestets,  have  not  generally 
made  the  subdivisions  of  these  (the  quatrains  and 
the  tercets)  di.stinct  in  function.  This  extreme  of 
organic  elaboration  is  not  found  in  many  English 
sonnets.  It  evidently  docs  not  suit  the  English 
genius.     There    is,    it    must    be    admitted,  a   certain 


THE   SONNET.  1 49 

artistic  satisfaction  in  such  strictness  of  workman- 
ship ;  but  this  strictness  is  more  than  compensated 
for,  in  the  greatest  EngHsh  sonnets,  by  the  high 
quality  of  the  thought  and  feeling,  in  the  two  main 
divisions,  taken  as  wholes.  When  the  functions  of 
these  are  kept  distinct,  there  is  an  all-sufficient  severity 
of  form.  When  this  severity  is  carried  further,  the 
danger  is,  if  the  subject-matter  is  not  of  a  sufficiently 
high  quality,  that  of  the  result,  when  most  successful, 
may  be  said  what  Ovid  says  of  the  silver  doors  of 
the  palace  of  the  Sun,  '  inateriem  supcrabat  optis,'  the 
workmanship  surpassed  the  material. 

Matthew  Arnold,  in  his  Address  as  President  of 
the  Wordsworth  Society,  1883,  after  speaking  of 
Wordsworth's  spiritual  passion,  when  he  is  at  his 
highest,  continues:  'A  second  invaluable  merit  which 
I  find  in  Wordsworth  is  this :  he  has  something  to 
say.  Perhaps  one  prizes  this  merit  the  more  as  one 
grows  old,  and  has  less  time  left  for  trifling.  Goethe 
got  so  sick  of  the  fuss  about  form  and  technical 
details,  without  due  care  for  adequate  contents,  that 
he  said  if  he  were  younger  he  should  take  pleasure 
in  setting  the  so-called  art  of  the  new  school  of  poets 
at  naught,  and  in  trusting  for  his  whole  effect  to  his 
having  something  important  to  say.'  ^ 

1  Eckermann,  Gesprdche  mii  Goethe,  ii.  260-262 :  '  Es  ist  immer  ein 
Zeichen  einer  unproductiven  Zeit,  wenn  die  so  ins  Kleinliclie  des 
Technischen  geht,  und  eben  so  ist  es  ein  Zeichen  eines  unproductiven 
Individuums,  wenn  es  sich  mit  dergleichen  befasst  .  .  .  Ware  ich 
noch  jung  und  verwegen  genug,  so  wiirde  ich  al)sichtlich  gegen  alle 
solche  technische  Grillen  verstossen  .  .  .  aber  ich  wiirde  auf  die 
Hauptsache  losgehen,  und  so  gute  Dinge  zu  sagen  suchen,  dass  jeder 
gereizt  warden  sollte,  es  zu  lescn  und  auswendig  zu  lernen.' 


150  THE   SOXXET. 

There  is  not  imjilied  in  these  remarks  any  depre- 
ciation whatever  of  the  importance  of  elaboration 
of  form,  without  which,  impassioned  or  spiritualized 
thought  could  not  be  adequately  expressed.  What  is 
meant  to  be  condemned  is  the  mere  etiquette  of  form, 
—  a  conventional,  not  an  organic  technique. 

A  number  of  sonnets  will  now  be  jiresented  from 
Milton,  Wordsworth,  and  other  poets,  which  conform 
more  or  less  strictly  to  the  three  Italian  types,  the 
octave  rhyme-schemes  of  which  are  all  abba  abba 
called  in  Italian,  rivia  eliiusa  (shut  up  or  enclosed 
rhyme) ;  and  the  sestet  rhyme-schemes  are :  i .  rima 
iucatenata,  interlaced  or  interlocked  rhymes,  ede  ede 
(variations  of  which  are  cde  dec  and  ede  ccd)\  2.  rima 
alternata,  alternate  rhymes,  cde  ded. 


Type  I.    ABBA  ABBA  CDE  CDE. 

This  is  regarded  as  the  truest  Italian  type,  and  it 
certainly  conforms  best  with  the  idea  of  the  sonnet. 
The  interlaced  or  interlocked  rhymes  of  the  sestet  are 
the  best  adapted  to  what  is  the  proj)er  function  of  this 
division  of  the  sonnet;  for  the  reason  that  the  rhyme- 
emphasis  of  this  scheme  is  the  most  evenly  distributed, 
each  verse  on  which  a  rhyme  falls  being  a  third  verse 
from  that  with  which  it  rhymes.  The  (|uieter  the 
subsidence  of  the  thought  and  feeling  in  the  sestet, 
the  more  agreeable  the  final  imjiression  generally  is. 
Adjacent  rhymes  j)resent  a  more  or  less  sensible 
check  to  this  subsidence,  whether  they  close  or  arc 
within  the  sestet. 


THE   SONNET.  151 

To  Cyriack  Skinner.     (Milton.) 

Cyriack,  whose  grandsire  ^  on  the  royal  bench 
Of  British  Themis,'^  with  no  mean  applause, 
Pronounced,  and  in  his  volumes  taught,  our  laws, 
Which  others  at  their  bar  so  often  wrench  ; 

To-day  deep  thoughts  resolve  with  me  to  drench 
In  mirth  that,  after,  no  repenting  draws  ; 
Let  Euclid  ^  rest,  and  Archimedes  pause. 
And  what  the  Swede  intend, ■*  and  what  the  French. 

To  measure  life  learn  thou  betimes,  and  know 
Toward  solid  good  what  leads  the  nearest  way ; 
For  other  things  mild  Heaven  a  time  ordains. 

And  disapproves  that  care,  though  wise  in  show, 
That  with  superfluous  burden  loads  the  day. 
And,  when  God  sends  a  cheerful  hour,  refrains. 

*  Many  of  Wordsworth's  so-called  sonnets,'  says 
Tomlinson,  '  are  not  sonnets  at  all,  according  to  the 
Italian  definition ;  but  it  must  also  be  added,  that 
whenever  he  submits  to  that  definition,  whether  con- 
sciously or  not,  and  has  some  respect  for  the  har- 
mony of  the  form,  the  thought  becomes  more  sharply 
defined  and  elaborated,  and  the  result  is  not  only 
Wordsworth's  best  sonnet,  but  an  English  sonnet 
deserving  of  the  name.  If  I  were  called  upon  to 
justify  this  statement  by  an  example,  I  should  be  dis- 
posed to  cite  the  sonnet  to  Haydon.     It  is  regularly 

^  Whose  grandsire :    Sir  Edward  Coke,  Chief  Justice  of  England. 
Skinner's  mother  was  a  daughter  of  Sir  Edward. 
2  Themis :  the  goddess  of  law  and  justice. 
'  Skinner  was  fond  of  mathematical  studies. 

*  Intend  (ed.  1673)  :  what  the  Swede  and  what  the  French  intend. 
The  Swede,  Charles  X.  (Charles  Tiustavus),  was  carrying  on  war  with 
Poland,  and  the  French  with  the  Spaniards  in  the  Netherlands. 


152  THE   SOS' NET. 

built  up  according  to  the  first  type  —  the  second 
quatrain  terminates  in  a  full  point,  and  the  tercets  in 
alternate  rhyme  ^  lead  happily  to  a  noble  conclusion.' 


To  R.  B.  Haydon,  Esq. 

High  is  our  calling,  Friend!  —  Creative  Art 
(Whether  the  instrument  of  words  she  use, 
Or  pencil  pregnant  with  etheteal  hues) 
Demands  the  ser\ice  of  a  mind  and  heart. 
Though  sensitive,  yet,  in  their  weakest  part 
Heroically  fashioned  —  to  infuse 
Faith  in  the  whispers  of  the  lonely  Muse. 
While  the  whole  world  seem.s  adverse  to  desert. 
And,  oh,  when  Nature  sinks,  as  oft  she  may. 
Through  long-lived  pressure  of  obscure  distress, 
Still  to  be  strenuous  for  the  bright  reward. 
And  in  the  soul  admit  of  no  decay. 
Brook  no  continuance  of  weak-mindedness  — 
Great  is  the  glory,  for  tlie  strife  is  hard  I  - 

Four  of  the  six  beautiful  sonnets  which  Longfellow 
prefixed  to  his  translation  of  Dante's  '  Divina  Com- 

'  The  rhymes  of  the  tercets  are  not  alternate  but  interlaced  or  inter- 
locked, cde  tde. 

2  Sending  this  sonnet  to  Ilaydon  on  Dcccinl>cr  2i,  1815,  Words- 
worth said  it  *  was  occasioned,  I  niiKht  say  inspired,  hy  your  last  let- 
ter.' In  Haydon's  letter  of  November  27,  the  following  occurs:  "I 
have  benefited  anrl  have  been  supported  in  the  troul)les  of  life  by  your 
poetry.  I  will  bear  want,  pain,  niisiTV,  and  blindness;  but  I  will  never 
yield  one  step  I  have  gained  on  the  road  I  am  determined  to  travel 
over.'  Prof.  A'nif,'/it''s  Note.  'No  new  books  worth  sending  for  but 
"Haydon's  Life,"  which  is  as  pathetic  and  strange  as  Rousseau's.'  — 
R.  M.  .Mihus'i  Ltlter  to  C.  J.  MafCarthy.  O.t.  iSth,  iSjj. 


THE    SONNET.  153 

media '  ^   belong  to  Type  I.     The  following   is    the 
second  of  the  two  prefixed  to  the  '  Inferno.' 

The  Divina  Commcdia  is  conceived  of  as  a  vast 
minster,  with  its  sculptures  and  statues,  and  elaborate 
emblematic  devices,  which  uprose  from  the  poet's 
agonies  and  exultations,  his  tenderness,  his  hate  of 
wrong. 

How  strange  the  sculptures  that  adorn  these  towers! 
^  This  crowd  of  statues,  in  whose  folded  sleeves 

Birds  build  their  nests ;  while  canopied  with  leaves 
Parvis  and  portal  bloom  like  trellised  bowers. 

And  the  vast  minster  seems  a  cross  of  flowers! 
But  fiends  and  dragons  on  the  gargoyled  eaves 
Watch  the  dead  Christ  between  the  living  thieves, 
And,  underneath,  the  traitor  Judas  lowers! 

Ah!  from  what  agonies  of  heart  and  brain. 
What  exultations  trampling  on  despair. 
What  tenderness,  what  tears,  what  hate  of  wrong. 

What  passionate  outcry  of  a  soul  in  pain. 
Uprose  this  poem  of  the  earth  and  air. 
This  mediaeval  miracle  of  song ! 

The  following  is  the  second  of  the  two  prefixed  to 
the  '  Purgatorio. '  This  sonnet  is  in  the  strictest  accord- 
ance with  the  Italian  type.  Each  quatrain  and  each 
tercet  is  distinct  and  has  its  own  function.  There 
are  no  sonnets  in  the  language  more  perfect  than  this 
in  their  workmanship,  nor  more  perfect,  aesthetically. 
The  rhyme-effect  could  not  be  finer,  especially  that 
from  the  vowel  e,  in  the  sestet. 

1  The  two  examples  of  Type  I.,  and  the  one  example  of  Type  II.,  are 
given  with  the  kind  permission  of  the  publishers,  Messrs.  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  of  Boston. 


154  THE   SONNET. 

With  snow-white  veil  and  garments  as  of  flame. 
She  stands  before  thee,  who  so  long  ago 
Filled  thy  young  heart  witii  passion  and  the  woe 
From  wliich  thy  song  and  all  its  splendors  came ; 

And  while  with  stern  rebuke  she  speaks  thy  name. 
The  ice  about  thy  heart  melts  as  the  snow 
On  mountain  heights,  and  in  swift  overflow 
Comes  gushing  from  thy  lips  in  sol)s  of  shame. 

Thou  makest  full  confession ;  and  a  gleam. 
As  of  the  dawn  on  some  dark  forest  cast. 
Seems  on  thy  lifted  forehead  to  increase ; 

Lethe  and  Eunoe  —  the  remembered  dream 
And  the  forgotten  sorrow  —  bring  at  last 
That  perfect  pardon  which  is  perfect  peace. 

Type  II.     ABBA  ABBA  CDC  DC D. 

When  the  Assault  was  intended  to  the  City.}     (Milton.) 

Captain,  or  Colonel,'^  or  Knight  in  Arms, 

Whose  chance  on  the.se  defenceless  doors  may  seize. 

If  deed  of  honour  did  thee  ever  jilease.^ 

Guard  lliem,  and  him  within  protect  from  liarms. 

'  '"  On  his  don  when  ye  citly  expeded  an  assault"  is  the  original 
heading  of  the  sonnet  in  the  copy  of  it,  by  an  amanuensis,  among  the 
Cambridge  MSS.,  as  if  the  sonnet  had  actually  been  posted  or  nailed 
up  on  the  outside  of  Milton's  door.  This  title  was  afterwards  deleted 
by  Milton  himself,  and  the  other  title  sul)stituted  in  his  own  hand;  but 
the  sonnet  appeared  without  any  title  at  all  in  the  edilinns  of  1645  and 
1673.'  —  Mass(jn. 

'  Colonel :  to  be  pronounced  in  three  syllables,  col-o-nel.  *  Also 
spelt  (oronel,  Holland's  "  I'liny,"  bk.  xxii.  c.  23;  which  is  the  .Spanish 
form  of  the  word,  due  to  substitution  of  r  for  /,  a  common  linguistic 
change;  whence  also  the  present  pronunciation  curnel.'  —  SKtAT's 
Etymological  Dictionary. 

'  As  it  stands  in  the  edition  of  1673,  and  also  in  the  rambri<!ge 
MS.;  in  the  edition  of  1645  it  stands:  'If  ever  dccil  of  honour  did 
thee  please.' 


THE  SONNET.  155 

He  can  requite  thee  ;  for  he  knows  the  charms  ^ 
That  call  fame  on  such  gentle  acts  as  these, 
And  he  can  spread  thy  name  o'er  lands  and  seas. 
Whatever  clime  the  sun's  bright  circle  warms. 
Lift  not  thy  spear  against  the  Muses'  bower : 
The  great  Emathian  -  conqueror  bid  spare 
The  house  of  Pindarus,  when  temple  and  tower 
Went  to  the  ground ;  and  the  repeated  air  ^ 
Of  sad  ■*  Electra's  poet  had  the  power 
To  save  the  Athenian  walls  from  ruin  bare. 

Wordsworth's  beautiful  sonnet,  '  The  world  is  too 
much  with  us,'  is  in  almost  strict  accordance  with 
the  second  Italian  type  —  the  exception  being  that 
the  subject-matter  of  the  octave  runs  over  into  the 
ninth  verse,  but  only  to  the  extent  of  2  xa,  '  It 
moves  us  not,'  and  this  transgression  does  not  in  the 
least  impair  the  artistic  merit  of  the  sonnet.  It 
rather  has  a  pleasant  effect,  when  the  sonnet  is  read 
aloud.  And  then  the  transition  to  the  sestet  is  dis- 
tinctly marked  by  the  exclamation,  'Great  God!  I'd 
rather  be,'  etc. 

1  Charms :  magic  verses,  carmina.  '  Carmina  vel  cselo  possunt  dedu- 
cere  lunam.'  —  ViRG.  Btic.  viii.  69  (Keightley). 

^  The  great  Emathian  (Macedonian)  conqueror :  Alexander  the 
Great,  by  whom  Thebes  was  sacked,  B.C.  333. 

8  And  the  repeated  air :  Plutarch  tells  us  that  when  it  was  under 
debate  in  the  camp  of  Lysander  whether  Athens  should  be  levelled  or 
not,  a  Phocian  minstrel  chanced  to  sing,  at  a  banquet  of  the  chief  offi- 
cers, the  chorus  from  the  '  Electra '  of  Euripides,  commencing  with 

' Ayan^nvovoi  w  /c6pa, 

i)\v0ov,  HX^KTpa,  ttotI  aav  aypbreipav  ai>\iv,  k.t.X.  v.  167, 

and   the  guests  were  so  affected    that  they  declared  it  would  be  an 
unworthy  deed  to  reduce  to  ruin  a  place  so  renowned  as  the  birthplace 
of  illustrious  men.  —  repeated,  i.e.  recited,  sung.  —  Keightley. 
*  Sad  :  qualifies  Electra. 


156  THE  SONNET. 

The  thought  that  our  hearts  are  divorced  from 
Nature,  and  her  ministrations,  is  set  forth  in  the  first 
quatrain,  and  enforced  by  sjiecial  instances,  in  the 
second  —  the  two  quatrains  putting  the  reader  in  full 
and  distinct  possession  of  it.  In  the  sestet,  the  poet 
expresses  his  preference  for  a  heart  open  to  the  con- 
soling and  cheering  influences  of  the  great  mother, 
even  if  it  were  the  heart  of  a  pagan,  having  faith  in 
the  Nature-deities  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

This  sonnet  ranks  with  the  noblest  in  the  litera- 
ture, both  in  its  matter  and  in  its  aesthetic  merit.  The 
last  two  verses  are  grandly  melodious. 

The  world  i.s  too  much  with  us ;  late  and  .soon,  (K^ 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers;     // 
Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours ;  P. 
V^e  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  Ijoon!' '^- 
This  Sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon ;  0L» 
The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours,     », 
And  arc  up-gathcrcd  nowJike  sleeping  flowers;^ 
For  this,  for  everything,  we  are  out  ol  tune  ;    "^ 
It  moves  us  not. -^ Great  God!  I'd  rather  be  *~ 
A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn  ;    q^ 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  plc;i.sant  lea,  c  1 

Have  glimp.ses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn  ;oL 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  '  from  the  .sea  ;0-   i 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn.     »' 

The  following  is  the   first  of  the  two  sonnets  pre- 
fixed to  Longfellow's  translation  of  the  '  Inferno' : 

Oft  have  I  seen  at  some  cathedral  door 
A  laborer,  pausing  in  the  dust  and  heat, 
I^y  down  his  burden,  and  with  reverent  feet 

Knter,  and  cross  himself,  and  on  the  floor 

Kneel  to  repeat  his  paternoster  o'er; 

'  Have  si^ht  of  TroteuB  coming  frum  the  sea.      1807. 


THE   SONNET.  1$? 

Far  off  the  noises  of  the  world  retreat ; 

The  loud  vociferations  of  the  street 
Become  an  undistingiiishable  roar. 
So,  as  I  enter  here  from  day  to  day, 

And  leave  my  burden  at  this  minster  gate. 
Kneeling  in  prayer,  and  not  ashamed  to  pray, 

Tlie  tumult  of  the  time  disconsolate  ^ 
To  inarticulate  murmurs  dies  away. 

While  the  eternal  ages  watch  and  wait. 


Type  III.     ABBA  ABBA  CDE  DCE. 

On  his  being  arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty- three.     (Milton.) 

How  soon  hath  time,  the  subtle  thief  of  youth, 

Stolen  on  his  wing  my  three  and  twentieth  year! 

My  hasting  days  fly  on  with  full  career. 

But  my  late  spring  no  bud  or  blossom  shew'th.^ 

Perhaps  my  semblance  might  deceive  the  truth,^ 

That  I  to  manhood  am  arrived  so  near, 

And  inward  ripeness  doth  much  less  appear 

That  some  more  timely  happy  spirits  enduHh. 

Yet  be  it  le.ss  or  more,  or  soon*  or  slow. 

It  shall  be  still  in  strictest  measure  even  ^ 

To  that  same  lot  ®  however  mean  or  high. 

Toward  which  time  leads  me  and  the  will  of  heaven. 

All  is,'^  if  I  have  grace  to  use  it  so. 

As  ever  in  my  great  taskmaster's  eye. 

1  The  reference  here  is,  perhaps,  to  our  Civil  War. 

2  Shew'th :  to  be  pronounced  shooth. 

3  He  appeared  younger  than  he  really  was.  In  his  Second  Defence 
of  the  people  of  England,  he  says :  '  Though  I  am  more  than  forty 
years  old,  there  is  scarcely  any  one  to  whom  I  do  not  appear  ten  years 
younger  than  I  am.' 

*  Soon  :   adj.  early. 

6  Still :  ever;  even :  equal  in  proportion. 
'  Lot :  station  in  life. 

'  .Ml  is,  etc. :  All  depends  upon  my  employing  it  as  feeling  myself  to 
be  under  the  eyes  of  my  great  Task-Master.  —  KticHriKV. 


158  THE   SO. WET. 


Sonnets   variously    Irregular,    but    having   the 
True  Sonnet  Character. 

A  number  of  sonnets  will  now  be  given  which 
exhibit  various  departures  from  the  normal  Italian 
types,  but  which  all  realize,  to  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  the  idea  of  the  sonnet,  and  produce  its  pecu- 
liar artistic  imj^ression,  more  or  less  distinctly  —  that 
is,  the  impression  derived  from  organic  octave  and 
sestet  divisions,  the  octave  division  presenting,  com- 
pletely and  distinctly,  a  basal  thought  or  fact,  from 
which  proceeds,  in  the  sestet,  a  corollary  iji  the  form 
of  a  sentiment,  or  retiection,  or  conclusion  of  some 
kind,  such  as  would  be  suggested,  by  the  thought  or 
I  fact,  to  a  flexible,  and  sensitive,  and  poetic  mind.  As 
has  been  just  said,  the  sestet  is  a  species  of  corollary, 
that  is,  a  little  crown  or  garland,  as  the  word  signi- 
fies, bestowed  upon  the  thought  in  the  octave. 

The  question  to  be  asked,  in  judging  what  purjjorts 
to  be  a  sonnet,  is,  does  it  adequately  meet  the  above 
conditions."*  It  may  not  meet  them,  and  yet  be  a 
very  beautiful  composition  ;  but  it  is  not  a  sonnet,  in 
the  strict  special  sense  of  the  term. 

The  sonnets  which  follow  illustrate  the  fact  that 
the  ideal  type  of  the  sonnet  may  be  variously  modi- 
fied (not  really  dejiarted  from),  and  yet  the  distinctive 
character  of  the  sonnet  may  be  jjreserved,  and  its 
di.stinctive  artistic  effect  produced.  The  Klizabethan 
sonnet  cannot  be  said  to  be  a  modification  of  the  son- 
net proper,  as  its  organic  construction  is  different,  and 
the  resultant  artistic  effect  is  different. 


THE  SONNET.  I  59 

In  the  following  sonnet,  by  Wordsworth,  the  octave 
rhyme-scheme  is  abbabaab,  instead  of  the  normal 
abbaabba,  the  as  and  the  b's  being  interchanged  in 
the  quatrains.  Each  quatrain  is  kept  distinct,  and 
has  its  own  function  —  the  first  characterizing  the 
rule-bound  poet,  the  second  advising  a  vital  art  which 
has  its  own  inherent  law,  and  follows  it,  regardless  of 
outside  and  traditional  authority  and  criticism. 

The  first  tercet  sets  forth  the  freedom  and  boldness 
of  the  meadow-flower,  in  unfolding  its  bloom ;  the 
second  represents  the  forest-tree  as  owing  its  grandeur 
to  its  own  divine  vitality. 

This  is  a  very  pleasing  sonnet. 

A  Poet!     He  hath  put  his  heart  to  school, 

Nor  dares  to  move  unpropped  upon  the  staff 

Which  Art  hath  lodged  within  his  hand  —  must  laugh 

By  precept  only,  and  shed  tears  by  rule. 

Thy  Art  be  Nature  :  the  live  current  quaff, 

And  let  the  groveller  sip  his  stagnant  pool. 

In  fear  that  else,  when  Critics  grave  and  cool 

Have  killed  him.  Scorn  should  write  his  epitaph. 

How  does  the  Meadow-flower  its  bloom  unfold? 

Because  the  lovely  little  flower  is  free  ' 

Down  to  its  root,  and,  in  that  freedom,  bold; 

And  so  the  grandeur  of  the  Forest-tree      - 

Comes  not  by  casting  in  a  formal  mould 

But  from  its  own  divine  vitality. 

In  the  following  sonnet,  by  Wordsworth,  the  rhyme- 
scheme  of  the  octave  is  ababcbcb,  the  dominant  and 
somewhat  indistinct  b  rhyme  (none,  upon,  tone,  gone) 
imparting  a  tone  well  adapted  to  the  theme.  The 
turn  which  the  thought  takes  in  the  sestet  is  in  the 


l6o  THE  SONNET. 

happiest  manner  of  Wordsworth's  sonnets.  The 
entire  sonnet  is  very  distinctly  Wordsworthian  in 
thought  and  feeling. 

Most  sweet  is  it  with  un-uplifted  eyes 
To  pace  the  ground,  if  path  be  there  or  none. 
While  a  fair  region  round  the  traveller  lies 
™  o  \  —     Which  he  forbears  again  to  look  u|)on  ; 

Pleased  rather  with  some  soft  ideal  scene. 

The  work  of  Fancy,  or  some  happy  tone 

Of  meditation,  slipping  in  between 

The  beauty  coming  and  the  beauty  gone. 

If  Thought  and  Love  desert  us,  from  that  day 

Let  us  break  off  all  commerce  with  the  Muse : 

With  Thought  and  Love  com])anions  of  our  way, 

Whate'er  the  senses  take  or  may  refuse, 

The  Mind's  internal  heaven  shall  shed  her  dews 

Of  inspiration  on  the  humblest  lay. 

Hood's  beautiful  sonnet,  entitled  'Silence,'  has  a 
most  satisfying  artistic  effect  ;  the  artistic  effect,  too, 
peculiar  to  the  sonnet,  notwithstanding  that  it  ends 
with  a  couplet.  The  couplet-rhyme,  too,  is  a  strong 
one,  falling,  as  it  does,  on  a  long  o,  encased,  in  both 
rhyming  words,  in  prolongable  sub-vowels,  ;//,  //,  and 
/,  //.  Hut  in  this  particular  case,  one  would  have  to 
be  a  bigoted  stickler  for  the  established  legislation  of 
the  sonnet,  to  condemn  this  violation  of  an  im|)ortant 
sonnet  rule.  Rather,  it  must  be  felt  that  the  final 
word  'alone,'  in  itself,  and  also  as  emphasized  by  the 
rhyme,  contributes  to  the  general  imj^ression  aimed 
after.     The  rhyme-scheme  is  abhaabba  ciicdcc. 

In  the  octave,  physical  silence,  if  the  e.\i)ression  be 
allowed,  is  presented  —  the  mere  ab.scnce  of  all  sound : 
the  silence  of  the  grave,  of  the  depths  of  the  sea,  of 


THE   SONNET.  l6l 

the  wide  desert  where  no  life  is  found ;  in  the  sestet, 
what  may  be  called  moral  silence  is  presented  —  the 
silence  which  is  deepened  to  the  human  spirit,  and 
made  'self-conscious,'  as  it  were,  by  human  associa- 
tions, and  by  sounds  which  intensify  the  sense  of 
desolation. 

The  impression  of  solitude  and  silence  is  deepened 
by  presenting  to  the  mind  green  ruins  and  the  deso- 
late walls  of  antique  palaces  where  man  hath  been, 
on  the  principle  set  forth  by  De  Quincey,  in  his 
remarks  on  the  effect  of  the  expressions, '  amphitheatre 
of  woods,'  '  amphitheatre  of  hills ' :  'In  the  word 
theatre  is  contained  an  evanescent  image  of  a  great 
audience  —  of  a  populous  multitude.  Now  this  image 
—  half  withdrawn,  half  flashed  upon  the  eye — and 
combined  with  the  word  hills  or  forests,  is  thrown  into 
powerful  collision  with  the  silence  of  hills  —  with  the 
solitude  of  forests ;  each  image,  from  reciprocal  con- 
tradiction, brightens  and  vivifies  the  other.  The  two 
images  act  and  react,  by  strong  repulsion  and  an- 
tagonism.' ^ 

The  sonnet,  while  being  a  beautiful  composition  in 
itself,  is  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  functions  of 
the  two  main  divisions  of  the  sonnet,  —  the  sestet 
crowning  the  thought  presented  in  the  octave,  —  anoint- 
ing it,  so  to  speak. 

There  is  a  silence  where  hath  been  no  sound. 
There  is  a  silence  where  no  sound  may  be. 
In  the  cold  grave —  under  the  deep,  deep  sea, 
Or  in  wide  desert  where  no  life  is  found, 

1  '  Theological  Essays  and  Other  Papers,'  Boston,  i86o,  vol.  ii. 
Milton,  p.  io8. 


1 62  THE  SONNET. 

Which  hath  been  mute,  and  still  must  sleep  profound ; 

No  voice  is  hushed  —  no  life  treads  silently, 

But  clouds  and  cloudy  shadows  wander  free. 

That  never  spoke,  over  the  idle  ground  : 

But  in  green  ruins,  in  the  desolate  walls 

Of  antique  palaces,  where  man  hath  been. 

Though  the  dun  fox,  or  wild  hyjena,  calls. 

And  owls  that  flit  continually  between, 

Siiriek  to  the  echo,  and  the  low  winds  moan, 

There  the  true  Silence  is,  self-conscious  and  alone. 

Some  readers  might  regard  the  last  verse  as  an 
alexandrine  ;  but,  in  effect,  when  i)roperly  read,  it  is 
a  pentameter  verse.  The  voice  should  make  a  down- 
ward wave  upon  '  true,'  the  new  idea,  should  go  up 
on  Silence  is,'  and  down  on  the  syllabic  '  con  ' ;  the 
last  foot,  '  alone,'  should  be  read  on  a  lower  key,  and 
the  voice  should  be  well  filled  out  upon  it. 

Wordsworth's  sonnet  on  Milton,  written  in  London, 
September,  i8o3,  is  one  of  his  noblest  sonnets. 

The  poet  invokes  his  great  predecessor  f)n  the  throne 
of  English  poetry,  as  one  whose  lofty  sjMrit  luigland 
needs,  to  lift  her  out  of  the  base  materialistic  and 
utilitarian  interests,  the  commonplace  worldlincss,  in 
which  she  is  absorbed,  and  to  inspire  her  with  nobler 
aims.^  This  is  the  basal  thought  presented  in  the 
octave  —  an  octave  remarkable  for  the  closely  packed 

'  The  Rev.  F".  W.  Robertson,  in  a  lecture  on  Wordsworth,  1853, 
remarks  that  the  first  qualilicatioii  fur  appreciating  putlry  is  unworKlli- 
ncss,  aii'ladiis:  '  IJy  wurldliness  I  mean  ciitaiij^kiiRiit  in  tlic  temporal  and 
visible.  It  is  the  spirit  of  worldliness  which  makes  a  man  love  show, 
splendor,  rank,  title,  and  sensual  enjoyments;  and  occupies  his  atten- 
tion, cliicfly  or  entirely,  with  conversation  rcspcclinj^  merely  |)assin^ 
events,  and  passing  aci|uaintances.' 


THE   SONNET.  1 63 

elements  included  in  its  structure.  And  the  many- 
pauses  required  in  its  vocal  expression,  serve  to  exhibit 
the  strong  fervor  of  the  invocation.  For  the  proper 
reading  of  it,  at  least  nineteen  pauses  are  required. 
The  quatrains  are  not  kept  distinct.  In  the  sestet, 
the  invocation  is  justified  by  the  exalted  character 
presented  of  the  invoked,  the  sense  of  which  is  regis- 
tered in  the  versification  of  the  first  tercet,  which  has 
a  grandeur  of  movement,  and  there  is  a  certain  charm 
in  the  subsidence  of  that  grandeur  in  the  second 
tercet.     The  rhyme-scheme  is  abbaabba  cddcce. 

Milton!  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour: 

England  hath  need  of  thee  :  she  is  a  fen 

Of  stagnant  waters:  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 

Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 

Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men; 

Oh !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 

And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  Star,  and  dwelt  apart ; 

Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea  :  * 

Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free, 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way. 

In  cheerful  godliness ;  and  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

In  connection  with  this  sonnet,  the  following,  which 
is  addressed  to  Coleridge,  should  be  read.  It  was 
also  written   in   London,    September,    1802,  and  was 

*  O  mighty-mouthed  inventor  of  harmonies, 

O  skilled  to  sing  of  Time  or  Eternity, 

God-gifted  organ-voice  of  England, 

Milton,  a  name  to  resound  for  ages. 

—  Tennyson. 


1 64  THE   SONNET. 

prompted  by  the  same  state  of  thinj^s.  The  rhyme- 
scheme  is  the  same  :  abbaabba  cddecc.  Though  the 
matter  of  the  first  quatrain  runs  over,  one  foot  ('  Or 
groom')  into  the  second  quatrain,  and  the  matter  of 
the  second  quatrain  into  the  first  tercet,  one  foot  and 
a  light  syllable,  xax  ('Delights  us'),  each  quatrain 
and  each  tercet  has  its  own  function,  and  the  full 
artistic  effect  of  the  sonnet  organization  is  produced. 
Wordsworth  seems  to  have  been  fond  of  this  running 
over,  a  foot  or  two,  of  one  division  of  the  sonnet  into 
another,  and  the  effect  is  often  good.  It  is  so  in  this 
sonnet  addressed  to  Coleridge  : 

O  Friend!  I  know  not  which  way  I  must  look 

F"or  comfort,  being,  as  I  am,  opprest. 

To  think  that  now  our  Life  is  only  drest 

For  show  ;  mean  handy-work  of  craftsman,  cook. 

Or  groom!  —  We  must  run  glittering  Uke  a  Hrook 

In  the  open  .sunshine,  or  we  arc  unljjcst : 

The  wealthiest  man  among  us  is  the  best : 

No  grandeur  now  in  nature  or  in  l)ook 

Delights  us.     Rajjine,  avarice,  expense. 

This  is  idolatry  ;  and  these  we  adore  : 

Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more: 

The  homely  beauty  of  the  good  old  Cause 

Is  gone  ;  our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence. 

And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws. 

The  last  four  verses  are  nolile  in  sentiment  and 
beautiful  in  expression.  '  Plain  living  and  high 
thinking,'  and  '  pure  religion  breathing  household 
laws,'  have  become  familiar  (|U()tations. 

In  a  letter  to  Alexander  Dyce  (1^33),  Wordsworth 
writes :  ' .  .  .  Though  I  have  written  so  many  [son- 
nets], I  have  scarcely  made  up  my  own  mind  upon 


THE   SONNET.  1 65 

the  subject.  It  should  seem  that  the  sonnet,  Hke  any- 
other  legitimate  composition,  ought  to  have  a  begin- 
ning, a  middle,  and  an  end ;  in  other  words,  to  con- 
sist of  three  parts,  like  the  three  propositions  of  a 
syllogism,  if  such  an  illustration  may  be  used.  But 
the  frame  of  metre  adopted  by  the  Italian  does  not 
accord  with  this  view ;  and,  as  adhered  to  by  them,  it 
seems  to  be,  if  not  arbitrary,  best  fitted  to  a  division 
of  the  sense  into  two  parts,  of  eight  and  six  lines  each. 
Milton,  however,  has  not  submitted  to  this  ;  in  the 
better  half  of  his  sonnets  the  sense  does  not  close  with 
the  rhyme  at  the  eighth  line,  but  overflows  into  the 
second  portion  of  the  metre.  Now,  it  has  struck  me, 
that  this  is  not  done  merely  to  gratify  the  ear  by  variety 
and  freedom  of  sound,  but  also  to  aid  in  giving  that 
pervading  sejise  of  intense  7mity  in  which  the  excellence 
of  the  sonnet  has  ahvays  seemed  to  me  mainly  to  con- 
sist. Instead  of  looking  at  this  composition  as  a  piece 
of  architecture,  making  a  whole  out  of  three  parts,  I 
have  been  much  in  the  habit  of  preferring  the  image 
of  an  orbicular  body,  —  a  sphere  or  a  dew-drop.  All 
this  will  appear  to  you  a  little  fanciful ;  and  I  am  well 
aware  that  a  sonnet  will  often  be  found  excellent, 
where  the  beginning,  the  middle,  and  the  end  are 
distinctly  marked,  and  also  where  it  is  distinctly  sepa- 
rated into  tzvo  parts,  to  which,  as  I  before  observed, 
the  strict  Italian  model,  as  they  write  it,  is  favorable. 
Of  this  last  construction  of  sonnets,  Russell's  upon 
"  Philoctetes  "  is  a  fine  specimen  ;  the  first  eight  lines 
give  the  hardship  of  the  case,  the  six  last  the  consola- 
tion, or  \\\Q.  per  contra.' 

What  is  italicized,   in   the  above  quotation,  makes 


(cr 


1 66  THE   SONXF.T. 

it  appear  quite  evident  that  Wordsworth  often  ad- 
visedly ran  the  subjeet-matter  of  the  octave  over  into 
the  sestet,  for  the  purpose  stated ;  ^  but  whether 
that  purpose  was  always  secured  thereby,  is  ques- 
tionable. At  any  rate,  where  the  subject-matter  of 
the  octave  runs  over  into  the  sestet  a  foot  or  two, 
the  true  sonnet  effect  is  not  sensibly  marred,  as  can 
be  seen  by  some  of  the  sonnets  presented. 

On  the  Lord  General  Fairfax  at  the  Siege  of  Colchester. 

(Milton.) 

abbaabba     cddcdc 

Fairfax,  whose  name  in  arms  throiijj;li  Europe  rings, 
Killing  eacii  mouth  with  envy  or  witii  praise, 
Antl  ail  her  jealous  monarchs  with  amaze. 
And  rumours  loud  that  daunt  remotest  kings  ; 
Thy  firm  unshaken  virtue  ■'  ever  brings 

*  See  the  sonnets  beginning  with  the  following  lines:  '  Festivals  have 
I  seen  that  were  nut  names';  ' Toussaint,  the  most  unhappy  man  of 
men';  '  (Jreat  men  have  l)ecn  amung  us;  hands  that  iicnncd';  'It 
is  not  to  he  thought  of  that  the  Flood';  'There  is  a  hundage  worse, 
far  worse,  to  bear';  'Nuns  fret  not  at  their  convent's  narrow  room'; 
'Fond  words  have  oft  been  spukcn  to  thee.  Sleep';  '  .\mong  the 
mountains  were  we  nursed,  loved  .Stream';  'Dear  to  the  Loves,  and 
to  the  Graces  vowed.'  In  the  following,  the  subject-matter  ends 
within  the  eighth  verse:  '  Is  it  a  reed  that's  shaken  by  the  wind'; 
'Degenerate  Douglas  I  nh,  the  unworthy  Lord';  'Six  thousand  vet- 
erans practised  in  war's  game';  '  Clarkson !  it  was  an  obstinate  hill 
to  climb.'  There  are  numerous  others  of  this  kind.  In  the  sonnet, 
l)eginning  '  I  watch,  and  long  have  watched,  with  calm  regret,'  the 
(jctavc  suliject-matter  extends  through  the  ninth  verse,  and  yet  the 
true  sonnet  effect  is  not  entirely  niarred,  though  objection  may  be 
made  to  including  the  ninth  verse  in  another  rhyme-scheme. 

'  Virtue :  valor,  and  there  is  also  implied  in  the  word  Fair- 
fax's purity  of  life.  Milton  pronounced  a  eulogy  u|)on  I'airfax,  in 
*ii»  '  Second  Defence  u(  Uie   I'cunlc  of  llngUnd  '  •.  '  Nor  would  it  be 


THE   SONNET.  1 67 

Victory  home,  though  new  rebellions  raise 
Their  Hydra  heads,  and  the  false  North  1  displays 
Her  broken  league  to  imp  their  serpent-wings. 

0  yet  a  nobler  task  awaits  thy  hand 

(For  what  can  war  but  endless  war  still  breed?) 
Till  truth  and  right  from  violence  be  freed, 
And  public  faith  cleared  from  the  shameful  brand 
Of  public  fraud.     In  vain  doth  valour  bleed. 
While  avarice  and  rapine  share  the  land. 

To  Catherine  Wordsworth.    (Wordsworth.) 
abbaacc  a     dedede 

Surprised  by  joy  —  impatient  as  the  Wind 

1  turned  to  share  the  transport  —  Oh!  with  whom 
But  thee,  deep  buried  in  the  silent  Tomb, 

That  spot  which  no  vicissitude  can  find  ? 

right  to  pass  over  the  name  of  Fairfax,  who  united  the  utmost  forti- 
tude with  the  utmost  courage;  and  the  spotless  innocence  of  whuse 
life  seemed  to  point  him  out  as  the  peculiar  favorite  of  Heaven. 
Justly,  indeed,  may  you  be  excited  to  receive  this  wreath  of  praise; 
though  you  have  retired  as  much  as  possible  from  the  world,  and 
seek  those  shades  of  privacy  which  were  the  dehght  of  Scipio.  Nor 
was  it  only  the  enemy  whom  you  subdued,  but  you  have  triumphed 
over  that  flame  of  ambition  and  that  lust  of  glory  which  are  wont  to 
make  the  best  and  the  greatest  of  men  their  slaves.  The  purity  of 
your  virtues  and  the  splendor  of  your  actions  consecrate  those  sweets 
of  ease  which  you  enjoy,  and  which  constitute  the  wished-for  haven 
of  the  toils  of  man.  .  .  .  But  whether  it  were  your  health,  which  I  prin- 
cipally believe,  or  any  other  motive  which  caused  you  to  retire,  of 
this  I  am  convinced,  that  nothing  could  have  induced  you  to  relinquish 
the  service  of  your  country,  if  you  had  not  known  that  in  your  suc- 
cessor liberty  would  meet  with  a  protector,  and  England  with  a  stay 
to  its  safety,  and  a  pillar  to  its  glory'  (Translation  by  Robert  Fellowes). 
1  And  the  false  North  :  the  English  Parliament  affected  to  regard 
the  entrance  of  Hamilton's  army  into  England  in  support  of  the  Royal 
cause  as  a  breach  of  the  Solemn  League  and  Covenant  between  the 
two  nations.  Displays,  etc. :  it  would  seem  as  if  in  poetic  vision  he 
behcKl  the  North  spreading  out  a  copy  of  the  Covenant  she  had  broken, 


1 68  THE   SONNET. 

Love,  faithful  love  recalled  thee  to  my  mind  — 

But  how  could  I  forget  thee?  —  through  what  power, 

Even  for  the  least  division  of  an  hour. 

Have  I  been  so  beguiled  as  to  be  blind 

To  my  most  grievous  loss?  —  That  thought's  return 

Was  the  worst  pang  that  sorrow  ever  bore. 

Save  one,  one  only,  when  I  stood  forlorn. 

Knowing  my  heart's  best  treasure  was  no  more ; 

Tiiat  neither  present  time,  nor  years  unborn 

Could  to  my  sight  tiiat  heavenly  face  restore. 

Tomlinson  says  of  this  sonnet  that  it  '  has  a  strong 
Petrarchan  flavour.  Although  loose  in  structure, 
it  reads  like  a  good,  but  free,  translation  of  one  of 
the  early  sonnets  in  the  Morte.^  By  '  loose  in  struc- 
ture,' he  probably  means  that  the  subject-matter  of 
the  octave  runs  over  into  the  ninth  verse.  That  of 
the  sestet  begins  with  the  fourth  foot  of  the  ninth 
verse.  This  looseness  of  structure  does  not,  however, 
sensibly  impair  the  true  sonnet  impression  or  effect. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  concluding  sonnet  of 
the  series  on  the  River  Duddon,  entitled  '  After- 
thought,' in  which  the  subject-matter  of  the  octave 
runs  over  three  feet  and  a  light  syllable  (3.rrt-|-.r) 
into  the  ninth  verse.  Verily,  this  sonnet  'justifies 
its  own  structural  form.'  Matthew  Arnold,  in  his 
Address  as  President  of  the  Wordsworth  Society, 
1883,  says:  'Milton  was,  of  course,  a  far  greater 
artist  than  Wordsworth  ;  probably,  also,  a  greater 
force.  Jkit  the  spiritual  passion  when,  as  in  the 
magnificent  sonnet  of  farewell  to  the   River  Duddon, 

to  be  cut  up  to  imp  the  wings  of  the  Hydra  of  rebellion.  Imp  is  to 
Rraft;  an<l  in  falconry,  to  imp  a  hawk's  wiiiR  was  to  piece  its  broken 
feathers  (Kkichti.kv). 


THE   SONNET.  1 69 

for  instance,  he  is  at  his  highest,  and  "  sees  into  the 
life  of  things,"  cannot  be  matched  from  Milton.  I 
will  not  say  it  is  beyond  Milton,  but  he  has  never 
shown  it.' 

The  rhyme-scheme  is  abbaabba    cddcdc. 

I  thought  of  Thee,  my  partner  and  my  guide, 

As  being  past  away.  —  Vain  sympathies! 

For,  backward,  Duddon!  as  I  cast  my  eyes,i 

I  see  what  was,  and  is,  and  will  abide ; 

Still  glides  the  Stream,  and  shall  not  cease  to  glide ; 

The  Form  remains,  the  Function  never  dies ; 

While  we.  the  brave,  the  mighty,  and  the  wise,  ^ 

We  Men,  who  in  our  morn  of  youth  defied  \/  1/ 

The  elements,  must  vanish  ;  —  be  it  so! 

Enough,  if  something  from  our  hands  have  power 

To  live,  and  act,  and  serve  the  future  hour ; 

And  if,  as  toward  the  silent  tomb  we  go. 

Through  love,  through  hope,  and  faith's  transcendent  dower. 

We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know.'^ 

To  Mr.  Lawrence?    (Milton.) 
abbaabba    cdceed. 

Lawrence,*  of  virtuous  father  virtuous  son, 
Now  that  the  fields  are  dank,  and  ways  are  mire, 
Where  shall  we  sometimes  meet,  and  by  the  fire 

1  Mr.  A.  J.  George,  in  his  'Selections  from  Wordsworth,'  p.  417, 
says,  '  It  is  not  possible  to  ascertain  from  what  point  the  Poet  took 
this  view  of  the  Duddon.'  But  '  backward  as  I  cast  my  eyes '  evi- 
dently means,  as  I  look  backward  in  time. 

'  'And  feel  that   I   am  happier  than  I  know.'  —  Paradise  Lost, 

viii.  282. 

3  '  .V  pleasing  picture  of  the  British  Homer  in  his  Horatian  hour.'  — 
RiCHAKI)  Garneft. 

••  Lawrence  :  Henry  Lawrence,  son  of  the  President  of  Cromwell's 

Council. 


I70  THE   SONNET. 

Help  waste  a  sullen  day,  what  may  be  won  ' 
From  the  hard  season  gaining?     Time  will  run" 
On  smoother,  till  Favonius  *  reinspire 
The  frozen  earth,  and  clothe  in  fresh  attire 
The  lily  and  rose  that  neither  sowed  nor  spun. 
What  neat  repast  shall  feast  us,  light  and  choice. 
Of  Attic  taste,  with  wine,  whence  we  may  rise 
To  hear  the  lute  well  touched,  or  artful  voice 
Warble  immortal  notes  and  Tuscan  air? 
He  who  of  those  delights  can  judge,  and  spare  * 
To  interpose  them  oft,  is  not  unwise. 

The  octave  material  of  the  following  sonnet  by 
Milton  runs  over  very  effectively  into  the  ninth 
verse,  ^xa  ('And  Worcester's  laureate  wreath'). 
The  sestet  rhyme-scheme  [cddccc],  including  two 
sets  of  adjacent  rhymes,  would,  in  most  cases,  espe- 
cially if  the  rhymes  were  on  broad  vowels,  be  objec- 
tionable, as  checking  too  much  the  equable  subsi- 
dence which  the  sestet  should  generally  have ;  but 
the  first,  '  victories,'  '  arise,'  is  hardly  felt  as  a  rhyme, 
and  the  strong  rhyme-emphasis  upon  *  maw,'  brings 
out  as  a  final  motived  effect  the  holy  indignation  of 
the  poet.  The  sonnet  is  signally  Miltonic  in  its 
moral  loftiness. 

*  Wh-it  may  be,  etc. :  ^aiiun^;  whatever  may  be  won  from  the  hard 
season. 

*  Time,  in  this  way,  will  run  on  smoother  for  us,  etc. 

'  Favonius:  the  Zephyr,  or  VVcsl-wiml  (a  favendo  vcl  fovcmlo'). 

*  Sparc:  refrain.     Keij;htley  mistakes  the  iiicaning,  in  his  note;   he 

supplies  '  lime '  after  '  spare ';   but  the  meaning  is,  he  who  can  judge  of 

those  delights,  and,  at  the  same  time,  can  refrain  from  interposing  them 

oft  in  his  occupations,  is  not  unwise. 

Uciiii;  iiiiiv'd,  he  will  nol  >parc  to  (iril  the  gcxlf. 

—  Coriotanui,  i.  i.  260. 


THE   SONNET.  171 

To  the  Lord  General  Cronnvell,  May,  16^2,  on  the  pro- 
posals of  certain  ministers  at  the  committee  for  propaga- 
tion of  the  Gospel. 

Cromwell,  our  chief  of  men,  who  through  a  cloud 
Not  of  war  only,  but  detractions  rude, 
Guided  by  faitli  and  matchless  fortitude. 

To  peace  and  truth  thy  glorious  way  hast  ploughed, 

And  on  the  neck  of  crownM  Fortune  proud 

Hast  reared  God's  trophies,  and  his  work  pursued. 
While  Darwen  1  stream,  with  blood  of  Scots  imbrued. 

And  Dunbar  field,'-  resounds  thy  praises  loud. 

And  Worcester"'s  laureate  wreath  :  yet  much  remains 
To  conquer  still ;  Peace  hath  her  victories 
No  less  renowned  than  War :  new  foes  arise. 

Threatening  to  bind  our  souls  with  secular  chains. 
Help  us  to  save  free  conscience  from  the  paw 
Of  hireling  wolves,*^  whose  Gospel  is  their  maw. 

'The  effectiveness  of  Milton's  sonnets,'  says  Mark 
Pattison,  *  is  chiefly  due  to  the  real  nature  of  the 
character,  person,  or  incident  of  which  each  is  the 
delineation.  Each  person,  thing,  or  fact,  is  a  mo- 
ment in  Milton's  life,  on  which  he  was  stirred ;  some- 
times in  the  soul's  depths,  sometimes  on  the  surface 
of  feeling,  but  always  truly  moved.  He  found  the 
sonnet  enslaved  to  a  single  theme,  that  of  unsuccess- 

*  Darwen  stream :  where  Cromwell  defeated  an  army  of  Scottish 
royalists  under  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  in  August,  1648.  See  '  Crom- 
well's Letters  and  Speeches,'  edited  by  Carlyle,  Letter  64. 

2  Cromwell  gained  a  great  victory  over  the  Scottish  army  at  Dunbar, 
September  3,  1650,  and  a  decisive  victory  over  the  royal  army,  at  Wor- 
cester, September  3,  1651.  'After  a  long  flow  of  perspicuous  and 
nervous  language,  the  unexpected  pause  at  "  Worcester's  laureate 
wreath,"  is  very  emphatical  and  has  a  striking  eft'ect.' — Thomas 
Warton. 

"  Hireling  wolves:   the  Presljyterian  clergy  is  here  meant. 


172  THE   SONXET. 

fill  love,  mostly  a  simulated  passion.  He  emancipated 
it,  and  as  Landor  says,  "  gave  the  notes  to  glory."  And 
what  is  here  felt  powerfully,  is  expressed  directly  and 
simply.  ...  It  is  a  man  who  is  speaking  to  us,  not 
an  artist  attitudinizing  to  please  us.' 

And  Lord  Macaulay,  in  his  '  Essay  on  Milton,' says 
of  the  sonnets  :  '  Traces,  indeed,  of  the  peculiar  char- 
acter of  Milton,  may  be  found  in  all  his  works ;  but 
it  is  most  strongly  displayed  in  the  sonnets.  Those 
remarkable  poems  have  been  undervalued  by  critics 
who  have  not  understood  their  nature.  They  have 
no  epigrammatic  point.  There  is  none  of  the  ingenu- 
ity of  Filicaja  ^  in  the  thought,  none  of  thp  hard  and 
brilliant  enamel  of  Petrarch  in  the  style.  They  are 
simple  but  majestic  records  of  the  feelings  of  the 
poet,  as  little  tricked  out  for  the  public  eye  as  his 
diary  would  have  been.  A  victory,  an  expected 
attack  upon  the  City,  a  momentary  fit  of  depression 
or  exultation,  a  jest  thrown  out  against  one  of  his 
books,  a  dream  which  for  a  short  time  restored  to 
him  that  beautiful  face  over  which  the  grave  had 
closed  forever,  led  him  to  musings  which,  without 
effort,  shaped  themselves  into  verse.  The  unity  of 
sentiment  and  severity  of  style  which  characterize 
these  little  pieces,  remind  us  of  the  Greek  Anthology, 
or  perhaps  still  more  of  the  Collects  of  the  ICnglish 
Liturgy.  The  noble  poem  on  the  massacres  of  Pied- 
mont is  strictly  a  collect  in  verse.' 

'  An  Italian  lyric  poet,  born  in  Florence  in  1642,  and  died  there  in 
1707.  Mataulay,  in  his'  Review  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Adilison,' 
speaks  of  him  as  '  a  poet  with  wliuin  Huileau  could  nut  sustain  a  compari- 
son,' and  as  '  the  greatest  lyric  poet  of  modern  time*.' 


THE   SONNET.  1/3 

Byron's  fine  sonnet  on  Chillon  has  three  rhymes  in 
the  octave,  abbaacca,  a  new  rhyme  being  introduced 
into  the  second  quatrain  instead  of  the  regular  b 
rhyme  of  the  first.  The  rhymes  of  the  sestet  are 
alternate,  dcdcde.  There  are  but  few  sonnets  in  the 
literature  which  realize  more  distinctly  the  sonnet 
idea,  or  impart  a  fuller  artistic  satisfaction  : 

Eternal  Spirit  of  the  chainless  Mind.' 

Brightest  in  dungeons.  Liberty!  thou  art, 

For  there  thy  habitation  is  the  heart  — 
The  heart  which  love  of  thee  alone  can  bind  ; 
And  when  thy  sons  to  fetters  are  consigned  — 

To  fetters,  and  the  damp  vault's  dayless  gloom. 

Their  country  conquers  with  their  martyrdom, 
And  Freedom's  fame  finds  wings  on  every  wind. 
Chillon!  thy  prison  is  a  holy  place, 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar  —  for  'twas  trod, 
Until  his  very  steps  have  left  a  trace 

Worn  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod, 
By  Bonnivard!     May  none  those  marks  efface! 

For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God. 

The  rhyme-scheme  of  the  octave  of  the  following 
sonnet  by  Wordsworth  is  the  same  as  that  of  the 
preceding  sonnet  by  Byron,  abbaacca.  The  rhyme- 
scheme  of  the  sestet  is  quite  abnormal,  ddcffc. 

The  rhyme  ce  is  the  same  as  the  aa  rhyme  in  the 
octave.  This  identity  may  have  been  accidental ;  or 
the  poet  may  have  advisedly  carried  the  aa  rhyme 
into  the  sestet  for  a  special  artistic  effect.  It  seems 
that  he  did. 

The  last  verse  of  the  octave  and  the  last  verse  of 
the  sestet  both  end  with  '  heard  by  thee ' ;  and  the 
repetition  is  felt   to  be  artistic.     In    the    latter,  the 


174  '^'^^   SONNET. 

word  *  neither "  should  be  emphasized,  and  the  voice 
should  drift  down  on  the  remainder  of  the  verse. 

As  has  been  said,  an  adjacent  rhyme  in  the  sestet, 
whether  internal,  or  at  the  close,  has  not,  generally,  a 
good  effect,  as  its  emphasis  presents  a  check  to  the 
quiet  subsidence  of  the  thouj^ht  in  the  sestet.  In  the 
sonnet  before  us  the  first  two  verses  of  the  sestet 
rhyme  together,  and  the  enijihasis  which  the  rhyme 
imparts  to  the  word  '  left,'  which  really  expresses  the 
pivotal  idea  of  the  sonnet,  is  felt  to  be  artistic,  as  is 
also  the  new  double-rhyme  in  the  second  quatrain, 
'  striven,'  '  driven.' 

The  structure  of  the  sonnet  is  of  the  very  highest 
artistic  merit. 

Thought  of  a  Briton  on  the  subjugation  of  Sivitzer/and. 

Two  Voices  are  there  ;  one  is  of  the  sea. 

One  of  the  mountains  ;  each  a  mighty  Voice  : 

In  both  from  age  to  age  thou  didst  rejoice, 

They  were  tliy  chosen  music.  Liberty! 

There  came  a  Tyrant,'  and  with  holy  glee 

Thou  fouglil'st  against  him  ;  but  hast  vainly  striven: 

Thou  from  thy  Ali)ine  holds  ^  length  art  driven. 

Where  not  a  torrent  murmurs,  heard  by  thee. 

Of  one  deep  bliss  thine  ear  hath  been  bereft : 

Then  cleave,  Oh,  cleave  to  that  which  still  is  left ; 

For,  high-souled  Maid,  what  sorrow  would  it  be 

That  Mountain  Hoods  should  thunder  as  before. 

And  Ocean  bellow  from  his  rocky  shore. 

And  neither  awful  Voice  be  heard  by  thee! 

Mark  Patti.son,  after  defining  what  is  regarded  as 
the  most  perfect  form  of  the  sonnet,  says:   '  How  far 

'  A  Tyrant :  Napulcon  Bunapartc,  who  invaded  .Switzerland  in  1802. 


THE  SONNET.  1 75 

any  given  specimen  may  deviate  from  type  without 
ceasing  to  be  a  sonnet,  is  as  impossible  to  decide  as 
it  is  in  botany  to  draw  the  line  between  a  variety  and 
a  distinct  species.  Perhaps  we  may  say  that  success 
is  the  best  test,  and  that  a  brilliant  example  justifies 
its  own  structural  form.  Or  we  may  look  for  legis- 
lative sanction  in  consent,  and  demand  compliance 
with  those  rules  which  the  majority  of  poets  agree  to 
respect.  "  The  mighty  masters  are  a  law  unto  them- 
selves, and  the  validity  of  their  legislation  will  be 
attested  and  held  against  all  comers  by  the  splendour 
of  an  unchallengeable  success."  ' 

Of  this  the  above  sonnet  is  a  signal  illustration. 
The  question  in  regard  to  any  irregular  sonnet 
should  be,  does  it  realize  successfully  the  idea  and 
the  peculiar  artistic  effect  of  the  normal  type  of  this 
poetic  form  t 

Mrs.  Browning's  '  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese' 

Of  Mrs.  Browning's  forty-four  exquisite  '  Sonnets 
from  the  Portuguese,'  but  three,  namely,  the  first, 
fourth,  and  thirteenth,  can  be  said  to  realize,  with 
any  distinctness,  the  idea  and  the  peculiar  artistic 
effect  of  the  sonnet  proper.  Though  they  all  ex- 
hibit the  rhyme-scheme  of  the  Italian  type,  abba  abba 
cdcdcd,  they  do  not  exhibit,  even  in  the  loosest  form, 
the  required  organic  divisions  —  they  are  not  '  built 
up  of  parts  or  quatrains,  the  Basi,  or  bases,  of  the 
structure ;  and  of  tercets,  or  Volte,  turnings  or  roads 
to  which  the  basi  point.'  In  their  rhyme-schemes, 
they  have  taken  on  the  exterior  semblance  of  what 


1/6  THE   SONNET. 

orf^anically  they  are  not.  They  are  the  most  beau- 
tiful love-poems  in  the  lang^uage,  but  they  cannot 
be  classed  as  sonnets.  The  three  following,  the 
twenty-eighth,  the  thirty-eighth,  and  the  forty- 
second,  of  the  series,  are  examples,  extreme,  per- 
haps, of  their  general  character,  with  the  three 
exceptions  named. 

My  letters  all  dead  paper.   .   .   .  mute  and  white  ! —  x. 

And  yet  they  seem  aUve  and  quivering  i'- 

Against  my  tremulous  hands  which  loose  the  string  ^ 

And  let  them  drop  down  on  my  knee  to-night.  "*■ 

This  said,  ...     He  wished  to  have  me  in  his  sight  '^ 

Once,  as  a  friend  :  this  fixed  a  day  in  spring  V 

To  come  and  touch  my  hand  ...  a  simple  thing,  ir- 

Yet  I  wept  for  it  !  —  this.  .   .   .  the  paper's  light,  ... 
Said,  Dmr,  /  love  thee:  and  1  .sank  and  quailed 
As  if  God's  future  thundered  on  my  i)ast : 
This  said  I  am  iliinc  —  and  so  its  ink  has  paled  i_ 

With  lying  at  my  heart  that  beat  too  fast :  C- 

And  this  .  .   .  O  love,  thy  words  have  ill  availed, 
If,  what  this  said,  I  dared  repeat  at  last  ! 

First  time  he  ki.ssed  me.  he  but  only  ki.s.sed  <> 

The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  1  write,  ' 

And  ever  since  it  grew  more  clean  and  white,  ... 

Slow  to  world-greetings  .   .   .  quick  with  its  '  Oh.  list,' 

When  the  angels  sjjcak.     A  ring  of  amethyst 

I  could  not  wear  here  plainer  to  my  sight,  ' 

Than  that  first  kiss.     The  second  passed  in  height 

The  first,  and  sought  the  forehead,  and  half  mi.sscd. 

Half  falling  on  tiie  hair.     O  beyond  meed! 

Tliat  wa.s  the  chrism  of  love  which  love's  own  crown, 

With  sanctifying  sweetness,  did  precede. 

The  third  upon  my  lips  wa.s  folded  down 

In  perfect  purple  state  !  since  when,  indeed, 

I  have  jjcen  jiroud  and  said,  *  My  Love,  my  own.' 


THE  SONNET.  1 77 

How  do  I  love  thee  ?  let  me  count  the  ways. 

I  love  thee  to  the  depth  and  breadth  and  height 

My  soul  can  reach,  when  feeling  out  of  sight 

For  the  ends  of  Being  and  Ideal  Grace. 

I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  everyday's 

Most  quiet  need,  by  sun  and  candlelight. 

I  love  thee  freely,  as  men  strive  for  Right ; 

I  love  thee  purely,  as  they  turn  from  Praise ; 

I  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 

In  my  old  griefs,  and  with  my  childhood's  faith ; 

I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 

With  my  lost  saints,  —  I  love  thee  with  the  breath, 

Smiles,  tears,  of  all  my  life  !  —  and,  if  God  choose, 

I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death. 


As  there  is  no  shift  in  the  thought,  in  these  compo- 
sitions, after  the  eighth  verse,  they  do  not  call  for 
two  distinct  sets  of  rhyme-schemes,  certainly  not  the 
rhyme-schemes  of  the  sonnet.  They  are  felt  to  be 
purely  arbitrary.  The  three  quatrains  and  a  couplet 
of  the  Shakespearian  sonnet  would  have  suited  better 
the  general  character  of  the  '  Sonnets  from  the  Portu- 
guese.' They  are,  in  fact,  fourteen-verse  stanzas,  in 
a  continuous  treatment  of  the  same  theme — 'waves 
of  a  prolonged  melody.' 

The  three  above-named  sonnets,  the  first,  fourth, 
and  thirteenth,  of  the  series,  which  meet  the  condi- 
tions of  the  sonnet  proper,  are  the  following.  Of  the 
first,  the  subject-matter  of  the  octave  runs  over  into 
the  ninth  verse,  ending  with  'A  shadow  across  me.' 
The  fourth  and  the  thirteenth  are  strictly  regular,  so 
strictly,  that  not  only  the  octaves  and  sestets  are  dis- 
tinct in  function,  but,  what  is  not  usual  in  English 
sonnets,  their  subdivisions,  the  quatrains  and  tercets, 


1/8  THE   SONNET. 

are  likewise  so.  The  tercets  of  the  thirteenth  are, 
however,  united  in  j^rammatical  construction,  but 
there  is  a  shift  in  the  thought. 

I  thought  once  how  Theocritu.s  had  .sung 

Of  the  sweet  years,  the  dear  and  wisheil-for  years, 

Who  each  one  in  a  gracious  liand  appears 

To  bear  a  gift  for  mortals,  old  or  young : 

And,  as  I  mu.sed  it  in  his  antique  tongue. 

I  saw  in  gradual  vision  through  my  tears. 

The  sweet,  sad  years,  the  melanclioly  years. 

Those  of  my  own  life,  who  by  turns  had  tlung 

A  shadow  across  me.     Straightway  I  was  'ware. 

So  weeping,  how  a  mystic  Shape  did  move 

Behind  me,  and  drew  me  backward  by  the  hair: 

And  a  voice  said  in  mastery  while  1  strove. 

*  Guess  now  who  holds  thee?' —  *  Death  ! "  I  .said.     HiU  there. 

The  silver  answer  rang  .   .   .   '  Not  Deatli.  hut  Love.' 

Thou  hast  thy  calling  to  .some  palace  floor, 

Most  gracious  singer  of  high  poems  !  where 

The  dancers  will  break  footing  from  the  care 

Of  w.itching  uj)  thy  jiregnant  lips  for  more. 

And  dost  thou  lift  tiiis  iiouse's  hitch  too  poor 

For  hand  of  thine?  and  canst  thou  think  and  bear 

To  let  thy  music  drop  here  unaware 

In  folds  of  golden  fulness  at  my  door  ? 

Look  up  and  see  the  casement  broken  in. 

The  bats  and  owlets  builders  in  the  roof! 

My  cricket  chirps  against  thy  mandolin. 

Hush  I  call  no  echo  up  in  further  proof 

Of  desolation  I  there's  a  voice  within 

That  weeps  .    .    .  as  thou  nuist  sintj   .    .    .   alone,  aloof. 

And  wilt  thou  iiave  me  l;ushion  into  si)eecli 
The  love  I  bear  thee,  finding  words  enough. 
And  hold  the  torch  out,  while  the  winds  are  rough, 
Uctwcen  our  faces  to  cast  light  on  each  ?  — 


THE   SONNET.  1 79 

I  drop  it  at  thy  feet.     I  cannot  teach 

My  hand  to  hold  my  spirit  so  far  off 

From  myself  .  .  .  me  .  .  .  that  I  should  bring  thee  proof 

In  words,  of  love  hid  in  me  out  of  reach. 

Nay,  let  the  silence  of  my  womanhood 

Commend  my  woman-love  to  thy  belief,  — 

Seeing  that  I  stand  unwon,  however  wooed, 

And  rend  the  garment  of  my  life  in  brief, 

By  a  most  dauntless,  voiceless  fortitude. 

Lest  one  touch  of  this  heart  convey  its  grief. 

Shakespeare' s  Sonnets. 

The  so-called  sonnets  of  Shakespeare,  which  con- 
sist of  three  quatrains  {each  with  its  distinct  set  of 
alternate  rhymes)  and  a  couplet,  are  a  law  to  them- 
selves, and  are  entirely  exempt  from  the  legislation 
of  the  sonnet  proper.  The  rhyme-scheme  is,  abab 
cdcd  efef  gg.  The  thought  developed  in  the  three 
quatrains  leads  up  to  its  consummation,  or  climax,  or 
application  of  some  kind  in  the  couplet,  the  conclud- 
ing verse  receiving  the  strongest  rhyme-emphasis, 
and  clinching  the  whole.  There  is  often  a  shifting 
of  the  thought  in  the  third  stanza,  the  couplet  sum- 
ming up  all.  The  artistic  effect  is  always  distinct 
and  satisfying  —  far  more  so  than  is  that  of  loosely 
constructed  compositions  which  have  taken  on  the 
outward  semblance  of  the  sonnet  proper,  without 
having  its  organic  character.  Such  sonnets,  when 
turned  to  after  reading  a  number  of  Shakespeare's, 
especially  impress  us  as  misbegotten. 

XVITI. 

Shall  I  compare  thee  to  a  summer's  day? 
Thou  art  more  lovely  and  more  temperate : 


l8o  THE   SONNET. 

Rough  winds  do  shake  the  darling  buds  of  May, 
And  summer's  lease  hath  all  too  short  a  date : 
Sometime  too  hot  the  eye  of  heaven  shines, 
And  often  is  his  gold  complexion  dimmed  ; 
And  every  fair  from  fair  sometimes  declines, 
By  chance  or  nature's  changing  course  untrimmed  ; 
But  thy  eternal  summer  shall  not  fade. 
Nor  lose  ])ossession  of  that  fair  thou  owest.' 
Nor  shall  death  brag  thou  wander'st  in  his  shade. 
When  in  eternal  lines  to  time  thou  grow'st ; 
So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  or  eyes  can  see. 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee. 

XXIX. 

When,  in  disgrace  with  fortune  and  men's  eyes, 
1  ail  alone  bcweep  my  outcast  state. 
And  trouble  deaf  heaven  with  my  bootless  cries. 
And  look  upon  myself,  and  curse  my  fate. 
Wishing  me  like  to  one  more  rich  in  hope, 
Featured  like  him,  like  him  with  friends  possessed, 
Desiring  this  man's  art,  and  tliat  man's  scojje, 
Willi  what  I  most  enjoy  contented  Iciust ; 
Yet  in  these  thoughts  myself  almost  despising, 
Majjly  I  think  on  thee,  and  then  my  state. 
Like  to  the  lark  at  break  of  day  .arising 
From  sullen  earth,  sings  hymns  at  heaven's  gate: 
For  thy  sweet  love  remembered  such  wealth  brings 
That  then  I  .scorn  to  change  my  state  with  kings. 

x.\x. 
When  to  the  sessions  of  sweet  silent  thought 
I  .summon  up  remembrance  of  things  past. 
I  sigh  the  lack  of  many  a  thing  I  sought. 
And  with  old  woes  new  wail  mv  dear  time's  waste: 
Then  tan  1  drown  an  eye,  unused  to  flow. 
For  |)recious  friends  hid  in  death's  dateless'^  night, 

'  That  fair  thou  nwcsl :   tliat  l.. miv  i!i,,ii  |.i>sscsscsl. 
'  Date-lets :  tnJItit, 


THE   SONNET.  l8l 

And  weep  afresh  love's  long  since  cancelled  woe, 
And  moan  the  expense  ^  of  many  a  vanished  sight : 
Then  can  I  grieve  at  grievances  foregone, 
And  heavily  from  woe  to  woe  tell  o'er  - 
The  sad  account  of  fore-bemoaned  moan. 
Which  I  new  pay  as  if  not  paid  before. 

But  if  the  while  I  think  on  thee,  dear  friend, 

All  losses  are  restored  and  sorrows  end. 

XXXIII. 

Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain  tops  with  sovereign  e3-e. 
Kissing  with  golden  face  the  meadows  green. 
Gilding  pale  streams  with  heavenly  alchemy  ; 
Anon  permit  the  basest  clouds  to  ride 
With  ugly  rack  on  his  celestial  face. 
And  from  the  forlorn  world  his  visage  hide, 
Stealing  unseen  to  west  with  this  disgrace : 
Even  so  my  sun  one  early  morn  did  shine. 
With  all-triumphant  splendour  on  my  brow ; 
But,  out,  alack!  he  was  but  one  hour  mine. 
The  region  cloud  hath  masked  him  from  me  now. 

Yet  him  for  this  my  love  no  whit  disdaineth  ; 

Suns  of  the  world  may  stain  ^  when  heaven's  sun 
staineth. 

LV. 

Not  marble,  nor  the  gilded  monuments 
Of  princes,  shall  outlive  this  powerful  rime  ; 
But  you  shall  shine  more  bright  in  these  contents 
Than  unswept  stone,  besmeared  with  sluttish  time. 

1  Moan  the  expense  :  Schmidt  explains  expense  as  loss,  but  does  not 
'  moan  the  expense  '  mean  pay  my  account  of  moans  for  ?  The  words 
are  explained  by  what  follows : 

Tell  o'er 
The  sad  account  of  fore- he  moaned  moan 
Which  T  new  pay  as  if  not  paid  before.  —  DowDEN. 

^  Tell  o'er :  count  over.  *  Stain  :  become  dim. 


I  82  THE   SOXXET. 

When  wasteful  war  shall  statues  overturn, 

And  broils  root  out  the  work  of  masonry. 

Nor  Mars  his  sword  nor  war's  quick  fire  shall  bum 

The  living  record  of  your  memory. 

'Gainst  death  and  all-oblivious  enmity 

Shall  you  pace  forth  ;  your  praise  shall  still  find  room 

Even  in  the  eyes  of  all  posterity 

That  wear  this  world  out  to  the  ending  doom. 
So.  till  the  judgment  that  yourself  arise.' 
You  live  in  this,  and  dwell  in  lovers'  eyes. 

Spenser's  Amoretti. 

The  Amoretti  of  Spenser  consist,  as  do  the  sonnets 
of  Shakespeare,  of  three  quatrains  and  a  cpui)let,  but 
the  quatrains  arc  interlaced  by  the  rhyme-scheme,  it 
being  abab  bcbc  cdcd  cc.  That  is,  the  last  rhyme  of  the 
first  stanza  is  continued  in  the  first  and  third  verses 
of  the  second ;  and  the  last  rhyme  of  the  second 
stanza  is  continued  in  the  first  and  third  verses  of 
the  third.  This  reiteration  of  rhymes  contributes  to 
the  ardency  of  the  expression  ;  but  it  is  often  felt  to 
be  too  much  of  a  good  thing,  especially  when  the 
rhymes  arc  double  or  female  rhymes. 

Happy,  ye  leaves!  when  as  tho.se  lilly  hands, 
Which  hold  my  life  in  their  dead-doing  might. 
Sliall  handle  you,  and  iiold  in  loves  soft  bands. 
Lyke  captives  trembling  at  the  victors  sight. 
And  happy  lines!  on  which,  with  starry  liglit. 
Those  lamjiing'^  eyes  will  deigne  sometimes  to  look, 
And  reade  the  sorrows  of  my  dying  spright. 
Written  with  te.ires  in  harts  clo.se-blecding  book. 

'  Till  the  judgment  that  yourself  arise :  till  the  decree  of  the  judg- 
ment day  that  you  arise  from  the  dca<l.  —  Dhwdkn. 

'^  lumping:   ikining ;  —  'lamping  sky'  i^lutent  Quetne,  3.  j.  i). 


THE   SONNET.  1 83 

And  happy  rymes !  bathed  in  the  sacred  brooke 
Of  Helicon,  whence  she  derived  is  ; 
When  ye  behold  that  Angels  blessed  looke, 
My  soules  long-lacked  foode,  my  heavens  blis  ; 

Leaves,  lines,  and  rymes,  seeke  her  to  please  alone, 
Whom  if  ye  please,  I  care  for  other  none! 

When  the  Amoretti  are  read  continuously,  the 
reader  wearies  of  the  '  volee  de  r^sonnance ' ;  espe- 
cially when  the  double  or  female  rhymes  come  in,  as 
in  the  following : 

Sweet  Smile!  the  daughter  of  the  Queene  of  Love, 

Expressing  all  thy  mothers  powrefull  art, 

With  which  she  wonts  to  temper  angry  Jove, 

When  all  the  gods  he  threats  with  thundering  dart : 

Sweet  is  thy  vertue,  as  thy  selfe  sweet  art. 

For,  when  on  me  thou  shinedst  late  in  sadnesse, 

A  melting  pleasance  ran  through  every  part, 

And  me  revived  with  hart-robbing  gladnesse. 

Whylest  rapt  with  joy  resembling  heavenly  madness, 

My  soule  was  ravisht  quite  as  in  a  traunce  ; 

And  feeling  thence,  no  more  her  son'owes  sadnesse. 

Fed  on  the  fulnesse  of  that  chearefull  glaunce. 

More  sweet  than  Nectar,  or  Ambrosiail  meat, 
Seemd  every  bit  which  thenceforth  I  did  eat. 

Though  the  sonnet  was  introduced  into  English 
literature  by  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,^  it  was 
not  until  Milton  used  it,  a  hundred  years  later  and 
more,  that  the  normal  Italian  type  was  followed  with 
any  degree  of  strictness.  '  Milton's  distinction  in  the 
history  of  the  sonnet,'  says  Mark  Pattison,  '  is  that, 
not  overawed  by  the  great  name  of  Shakespeare,  he 
emancipated  this  form  of  poem  from  the  two  vices 

*  Born  about  151 7;  beheaded  January  21,  1547. 


184  THE   SONNET. 

which  depraved  the  Klizabethan  sonnet  —  from  the 
vice  of  misplaced  wit  in  substance,  and  of  misplaced 
rime  in  form.  He  recognized  that  the  sonnet  belonged 
to  the  poetry  of  feeling,  and  not  to  the  poetry  of 
ingenuity.  And  he  saw  that  the  perfection  of  metri- 
cal construction  was  not  reached  by  tacking  together 
three  four-line  verses  rounded  by  a  couplet  at  the 
end.' 

Pattison  is  hardly  just  here.  The  sonnets  of 
Shakespeare,  and  other  Elizabethan  .sonnets,  should 
be  judged  absolutely,  and  not  relatively  to  the  normal 
type  of  the  Italian  sonnet.  The  fact  that  they  are 
fourteen-verse  compositions  does  not  necessarily  ren- 
der them  amenable  to  the  legislation  of  the  Italian 
sonnet.  The  question  should  be,  have  they  their  own 
artistic  effect .''  Shakespeare's  sonnets  certainly  have, 
and,  in  general,  a  most  satisfying  artistic  effect.  And 
so  have  a  large  number  of  sonnets  by  Spenser  and 
other  poets  of  the  time. 

Pattison  continues:  'Milton  had  put  his  poetical 
genius  to  school  to  the  Italians,  Dante,  Petrarch,  and 
the  rest.  What  of  art  Milton  could  adopt  from  them, 
he  had  appropriated.  The  tradition  of  the  sonnet, 
coming  from  what  had  not  ceased  to  be  regarded  as 
the  home  of  learning,  ajipealed  to  his  classical  feel- 
ing. His  exquisite  car  for  rhythm  dictated  to  him  a 
recurrence  to  the  Italian  type  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  rimes.  We  may  be  sure  that  Milton's  ungrudg- 
ing submi.ssion  to  the  rules  of  the  sonnet  was  not 
deference  to  authority.  To  that  arch-rebel,  rule  and 
law  were  as  a  thread  of  tow,  if  they  could  not  justify 
themselves  to  reason.     Not  so  much  the  Italian  tradi- 


THE  SONNET.  1 85 

tion,  as  his  own  sense  of  fitness,  made  Milton  recur 
to  the  Italian  type  from  which  the  sonnet  had  devi- 
ated since  its  first  introduction  by  Surrey.' 

These  remarks  are  quite  acceptable.  But  they 
are,  after  all,  merely  equivalent  to  saying  that  Milton 
saw,  in  the  constitution  of  the  normal  type  of  the 
Italian  sonnet,  a  form  of  poetic  art  which  suited  his 
purpose,  which  form  he  felt  at  liberty  to  modify 
somewhat,  \vhile,  at  the  same  time  he  secured,  more 
or  less,  its  peculiar  artistic  effect.  Whatever  con- 
demnation he  might  have  pronounced  upon  the  Eliza- 
bethan sonnet,  as  written  by  Shakespeare,  Spenser, 
Sidney,  Daniel,  and  others,  he  certainly  was  not  the 
man  to  condemn  it  by  reason  of  its  deviations  from 
the  Italian  type.  He  would  have  condemned  it,  if  at 
all,  on  absolute  principles,  regarding  it  as  an  inde- 
pendent form  of  poetic  art. 


XI. 
GENERAL  REMARKS  (3N  BLANK  VERSE. 

THK  crowning  glory  of  English  poetical  and 
dramatic  language-shaping  is  blank  verse,  in 
its  most  vital,  organic  forms  —  the  forms  developed 
in  the  Elizabethan  era,  and  the  epic  form  as  j)roduced 
by  the  '  mighty-mouthed  inventor  of  harmonies,'  the 
'  God-gifted  organ-voice  of  England,'  who  could  not, 
perhaps,  with  all  his  inborn  power,  have  attained  to 
such  consummate  and  never-to-be-equalled  excellence, 
had  he  not  profited  by  the  dramatic  blank  verse  of 
Shakespeare  and  his  contemporaries. 

And  there  is  no  mode  of  language-shaping  which 
e.xhibits  such  a  variety  of  degrees  of  merit  and  of 
demerit.  The  worst  and  the  best  hardly  admit  of 
comparison,  any  more  than  things  which  have  noth- 
ing in  common.  The  only  respect  in  which  they 
may  be  said  to  agree  is,  that  the  metrical  theme  is 
$X(i.  The  highest  merits  of  blank  ver.se  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  any  existence  in  the  earliest  attempts 
at  this  literary  form,  in  which  the  verse  has  altogether 
its  own  way,  so  to  si)eak,  and  the  thought  is  forced 
to  submit  to  that  way.  .  Its  movement  had  been 
derived  from  rhyming  verse,  and  could  not  readily  be 
changed.  Much,  indeed,  of  the  earlier  blank  verse, 
at  its  best,  may  be  characterized  as  unrhymed  coup- 
i86 


GENERAL  REMARKS   ON  BLANK    VERSE.        1 8/ 

let-verse  ;  at  its  worst,  it  is  but  a  succession  of  verses, 
each  being,  syntactically,  an  unconnected  unit  in  the 
series. 

But  such  an  imperfect  medium  of  expression  was 
not  at  all  suitable  for  the  great  dramatic  geniuses 
who  were  soon  to  appear,  and  by  one  of  the  earliest 
of  whom,  fortunately,  the  great  capabilities  of  this 
medium  of  expression  were  to  be  recognized,  and, 
to  some  degree,  realized.  The  relations  of  the  verse 
and  the  thought  to  be  conveyed  by  it  had  to  undergo 
an  entire  change.  The  thought  was  to  have  its  own 
way,  determine  its  own  orbit,  and  the  verse  was,  in 
its  turn,  to  submit  to  that  way. 

The  stages  of  the  change  can  be  quite  distinctly 
traced,  especially  in  Shakespeare.  He  began  to 
write  when  the  change  had  decidedly  set  in.  The 
verse  had  learned  to  come  into  some  submission  to 
the  dramatic  thought  which  it  had  to  convey.  This 
submission  Christopher  Marlowe  had  taught  it  to 
some  extent  —  to  a  very  considerable  extent  —  when 
Shakespeare  took  it  in  hand.  And  such  was  the 
plastic  power  of  Shakespeare's  thought  that,  in  a  few 
years,  a  complete  submission  was  brought  about,  as 
is  shown  in  his  later  plays,  wherein  the  verse  is  as 
fully  obedient  to  the  thought  as,  before,  the  thought 
was  to  the  verse.  But  for  this  change  in  their  re- 
lations to  each  other,  the  English  drama  could  not 
have  been  what  it  became,  notwithstanding  that  there 
was  more  dramatic  genius  in  England,  at  the  time, 
than  we  have  any  record  of  in  any  previous  period  of 
human  history. 

The  chances  of  the  drama,  too,  would  have  been 


l8S        GENERAL   REMARKS   ON  BLANK    VERSE. 

Still  less  it  rhymed  pentameter  verse  had  become  an 
established  form.  This  form  asserted  itself,  for  a 
time,  in  the  dreary  Restoration  Drama  —  in  the 
'  heroic '  plays  of  Uryden  and  others,  which  are  '  full 
of  sound  and  fury,  sij^nifying  nothing.'  The  sound 
and  fury  took  the  place  of  honest  vital  thought  and 
genuine  unaffected  feeling. 

Shakespeare  was  evidently  fond  of  rhyme,  in  the 
earlier  period  of  his  career ;  but  as  his  dramatic 
identification  advanced,  rhyme  had  to  give  way,  and 
in  his  latest  plays  there  is  very  little  of  it.  Blank 
verse  became  the  only  fitting  organ  for  his  dramatic 
genius  in  its  most  advanced  development. 

In  the  earliest  blank  verse  in  the  language,  that  of 
Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey's  translation  of  the 
second  and  fourth  books  of  Virgil's  '  /Uneid,'  done 
about  1540,  and  first  published  in  1557,  the  orbit  of 
the  thought  is  generally  determined  by  the  metre. 
There  is  but  little  itijanilyoncnt ;  the  sense  is  not, 
in  Milton's  words,  'variously  drawn  out  from  one 
verse  into  another.'  One  verse  follows  another  with 
a  dull  uniformity.  The  car  dwells  on  the  termination 
of  the  ver.se  ;  the  mind  hovers  within  the  limits  of  one 
verse,  or  of  a  couplet,  at  a  time. 

Nicholas  Grimoald's  blank  verse,'  first  published  in 
'  Tottell's  Miscellany,'  1557,  the  .same  year  in  which 
Surrey's  translations  from  Virgil  were  published,  is 
superior  to  Surrey's.  There  is  more  sjiontaneity, 
more  t^o,  in  it ;  and  it  does  not  show  so  much  metre 

'  'I"hat  t>f  *  The  Death  of  Zoroas,  an   I'lRyptian  astrunomcr,  who  was 
killcl  in  Alexander's  first  battle  with  the   Persians,'  and  other  pieces 
Sec  Walton's  '  History  of  Knj^liiih  I'oetry,' 


GENERAL  REMARKS   ON  BLANK   VERSE.        1 89 

consciousness  as  is  always  present  in  Surrey's.  War- 
ton  remarks,  in  his  *  History  of  English  Poetry,'  '  To 
the  style  of  blank  verse  exhibited  in  Surrey,  he  added 
new  strength,  elegance,  and  modulation.  In  the 
disposition  and  conduct  of  his  cadencies,  he  often 
approaches  to  the  legitimate  structure  of  the  improved 
blank  verse.' 

The  first  tragedy  in  blank  verse  was  *  Gorboduc ' 
(or,  *  Ferrex  and  Porrex  '),  the  joint  production  of 
Thomas  Norton  and  Thomas  Sackville.  It  was 
acted  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  at  Whitehall,  in  1561. 
Its  blank  verse,  like  that  of  Surrey,  exhibits  only 
occasional  shiftings  of  the  regular  accent,  and  extra 
unaccented  syllables;  here  and  there  an  enjambei}ient 
and  a  broken  verse;  no  excursions  of  the  thought 
from  the  metre ;  and  though  there  are  passages  of 
connected  lines,  each  line  is  generally  felt  as  a  distinct 
unit  in  the  series. 

It  may  be  said  that  Marlowe  did  more  in  the  way 
of  indicating  the  dramatic  capabilities  of  blank  verse, 
by  freeing  it  from  some  of  the  fetters  in  which  it  had 
been  bound,  than  of  realizing  those  capabilities  on 
the  higher  planes  of  expression  to  which  Shakespeare 
carried  them.  He  certainly  did  not  do  all  that  John 
Addington  Symonds  credits  him  with,  in  his  '  Shake- 
speare's Predecessors  in  the  English  Drama.' 

There  is  not,  generally,  in  his  plays,  that  sanity  of 
mind  and  heart,  that  well-balanced  and  well-toned 
thought  and  genuine  passion,  to  have  brought  out 
the  higher  capabilities  of  the  verse. 

The  student  could  not  be  referred  to  any  passage 
in  his  plays,  which  would  better  serve,  perhaps,  to 


1 90       GENERAL  REMARKS    ON  BLANK    VERSE. 

represent  his  blank  verse  in  its  best  estate,  than  the 
first  scene  of  the  fifth  act  of  his  '  Edward  the  Second,' 
in  which  the  king,  after  his  deposition,  reluctantly 
gives  up  his  crown  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  and 
the  Earl  of  Leicester.  The  scene  in  Shakespeare's 
'  Richard  the  Second,'  in  which  Richard  is  represented 
under  similar  circumstances  (4.  i.  162-318),  should 
])e  read  in  connection  with  this,  for  the  purpose  of 
comparing  Shakespeare's  earlier  blank  verse  with 
Marlowe's  best.  The  scene  in  '  Edward  the  Second,' 
in  which  the  king  is  put  to  death,  the  fifth  of  the 
fifth  act,  also  contains  some  of  the  best  verse  which 
Marlowe  wrote. 

The  blank  verse  of  '  Tamburlaine  '  is  more  high- 
sounding,  indeed,  than  that  of '  Edward  the  Second  ' ; 
but  it  is  in  '  Ercles'  vein,  a  tyrant's  vein,'  —  pompous 
and  passionless.  Thought  and  passion  must  be  per- 
fectly honest,  in  order  to  be  subtly  plastic.  Tambur- 
laine and  the  Jew  of  Malta  are  monsters,  in  their 
several  ways ;  and  much  of  what  they  are  made  to 
say,  '  o'ersteps  the  modesty  of  nature.' ' 

The  work  begun  by  Marlowe,  of  bringing  blank 
verse  into  a  conformity  with  the  demands  of  dramatic 

'  It  should  be  remembered  that  the  exaggeration  of  high-sounding 
language  of  which  Marlowe  has  been  accused  was,  in  i>art  at  least, 
intentional,  and  was  meant  to  supply  some  of  the  resonance  that  the 
ear  would  miss  in  the  absence  of  rhyme.  This  is  plainly  stated  in  the 
prologue  to  •  Tamburlaine,'  Part  i. : 

From  jiKt{i"K  veini  of  rhymiiiB  muther  wiu, 
Anil  inch  conceit  at  clownaK'  kccpi  in  pay, 
We'll  lead  you  to  the  italely  tent  of  war, 
Where  you  nhall  hear  the  Scythian  'ranihurlaine, 
Threatening  the  world  with  hi|{h-a<tloundinK  lermn. 

0»lK>rnc  William  Tancock's  edition  of  Marlowe's  '  Edward  the 
Second.'     Introd.,  p.  vi. 


GENERAL   REMARKS   ON  BLANK   VERSE.        191 

thought,  was  carried  on  and  perfected  by  Shake- 
speare ;  and  the  evolution  of  this  wonderful  organ  of 
dramatic  expression  can  be  traced  in  his  plays,  from 
a  more  or  less  monotonous  alternation  of  unaccented 
and  accented  syllables,  the  thought  metre-bound  or 
couplet-bound,  up  to  an  operation  of  the  perfect  law 
of  liberty  ;  the  flexibility  and  the  continuity  of  the 
thought,  and  the  vivacity  and  the  fluctuations  of  the 
feelings  resulting  in  all  manner  of  variations  upon 
the  theme-forms, —  shiftings  of  the  regular  rhythmical 
accent,  extra  end-syllables,  constant  breaks  in  the 
verse,  weak  endings  of  verses,  upon  which  the  voice 
cannot  press,  but  must  move  on  without  a  pause,  an 
interweaving  of  verses  and,  as  a  consequence,  a 
sinking  of  the  metre,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent, 
accelerations  and  retardations  of  movement,  which 
way  the  thought  and  feeling  sway  it,  etc.,  etc. 

See  the  following  passages  :    Love's  Labor's  Lost, 

2.  I.  13-34;  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  2.  7.  1-38; 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  4.  i.  108-124;  Richard 
the  Third,  i.  i.  1-41  ;    Romeo  and  Juliet,  2.  2.  1-190; 

3.  2.  1-31  ;  4.  I.  77-88;  4.  3.  36-58  ;  King  John,  3. 
3.  19-55;  I  Henry  IV.,  i.  3.  1-302;  4.  i.  97-110; 
Julius  Caesar,  3.  i.  254-275;  3.  2.  78-234;  Troilus 
and  Cressida,  i.  3.  75-137;  Hamlet,  i.  2.  129-159; 
Othello,  I.  3.  158-168;  2.  3.  169-178;  3.  3.  347- 
357;  451-460;  3.4.  55-75;  4.  2.  47-64;  5-  2.  338- 
356;  King  Lear,  i.  4.  318-332;  2.  4.  89-120;  4.  6. 
11-24;  Macbeth,  i.  5.  16-59;  4-  i-  48-61;  Antony 
and  Cleopatra,  4.  14.  1-54;  5.  2.  76-92;  Coriolanus, 
3.  3.  120-135;  Cymbcline,  3.  2.  50-70;  Winter's 
Tale,    I.  2.  1-465;  3.  2.  23-46;   176-203;  4.  4.    112- 


192       GENERAL   REMARKS   ON  BLANK    VERSE. 

129;  Tempest,  i.  2.  1-501;  5.  i.  33-57.  The  num- 
bering of  the  Hnes  is  that  of  the  Globe  Shakespeare. 
Dramatic  blank  verse  has  never,  perhaps,  attained 
to  more  organic  forms  than  are  exhibited  by  the 
second  scene  of  the  first  act  of  'The  Winter's  Tale,' 
and  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  of  '  The  Tempest.' 
These  two  scenes  every  student  of  Shakespeare  should 
read  again  and  again  ;  should  memorize,  indeed,  as 
the  perfection,  humanly  speaking,  of  dramatic  lan- 
guage-shaping. 


T 


XII. 
MILTON'S   BLANK   VERSE. 

HE  two  grand  features  of  Milton's  blank  verse, 
are 

1.  The  melodious  variety  of  his  cadences  closing 
within  verses  ;  this  being  one  of  the  essentials  of  '  true 
musical  delight '  which  Milton  mentions,  in  his  re- 
marks on  '  The  Verse,' '  the  sense  variously  drawn  out 
from  one  verse  into  another  ' ;  and 

2.  The  melodious  and  harmonious  grouping  of  verses 
into  what  may,  with  entire  propriety,  be  called  stanzas  ^ 
—  stanzas  which  are  more  organic  than  the  uniformly 
constructed  stanzas  of  rhymed  verse.  The  latter  must 
be  more  or  less  artificial,  by  reason  of  the  uniformity 
which  is  maintained.  But  the  stanzas  of  Milton's 
blank  verse  are  waves  of  harmony  which  are  larger 
or  smaller,  and  with  ever-varied  cadences,  according 
to  the  propulsion  of  the  thought  and  feeling  which 
produces  them,  which  propulsion  may  be  sustained 
through  a  dozen  verses  or  more,  or  may  expend  itself 
in  two  or  three. 

No  other  blank  verse  in  the  language  exhibits  such 
a  masterly  skill  in  the  variation  of  its  pauses —  pauses, 
I  mean,  where  periodic  groups,  or  logical  sections  of 
groups,  terminate,   after,    or  within,    it  may  be,  the 

1  See  note,  p.  21. 

193 


194 


M//./O.V'S   BLA.Vk'    r/-:A'SlL. 


first,  second,  third,  or  fourth  foot  of  a  verse.  There 
are  five  cases  where  the  termination  is  within  the 
fifth  foot. 

The  following  table  exhibits  the  various  parts  of 
verses,  in  the  order  of  their  numerical  rank,  after 
which  pauses  occur.  The  variations  of  the  regular 
foot  (xd),  in  these  parts  of  verses,  are  also  shown, 
the  accented  syllable  being  often  shifted,  and  un- 
accented syllables  being  often  added.  These  varia- 
tions are  not  arbitrary,  but,  when  properly  read  aloud, 
in  their  connection,  will  be  found  to  be  organic  ;  that 
is,  they  have  a  logical. or  an  aesthetic  significance.  It 
has  been  seen,  in  a  former  chapter,  how  these  varia- 
tions were  misunderstood  and  condemned  by  Dr 
Johnson  and  other  critics  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


3  '" 

587 

2  xa      . 

497 

2  xa  1  .« ' 

242 

3  ^a  1  X 

198 

xa  \  X  . 

184 

4  xa 

'49 

xa 

116 

ax  1  xa 

78 

ax  \  2xa 

75 

ax  \  xa  \  X 

5' 

ax  1  2  xa  1  X 

26 

at 

23 

ax  \  ^  xa 

18 

2  xa  1  XX 

'5 

2  xa  1  xxa 

«3 

xa  1  xxa  1  xa 

'3 

xa  1  xxa 

8 

xa  1  .11 

8 

'  Wherever  a  (mal  a 

or  U4  occurs,  the  •;   »yllable   fulluw 

i  the   pause 

in  the  ftuccceiling  K''""] 

)  or  tcction  o 

f  aRr 

III)) 

MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE. 


195 


5 
5 
4 
4 
4 
4 
4 
2 
2 
2 


4xa  \  X 
■2  ax  \  xa 
axx  I  r« 

xa  I  xnz  I  r  . 
ax  I  ;t";ra  |  xa  \  x 

3  A'<«  I  XX 

xax  \  2  xa 
ax\  xa  \  xxa 
xa  I  xxa  I  2  ra 

ax\  X  . 

xa  I  .r.ra!  |  avz  |  a- 

ax  I  xi-« 

rtjr  I  xa  I  ;rjr  . 

axx  \  s  xa 
axx  I  «r 
ax\  2  xa  \  xxa 
axx 

ax  \  xa  \  ax  \  xa 
xxa  \  2  xa 
2  xa  \  ax\  xa 
ax  \  ;i  xa  \  X 
xa  \  ax\  X    . 
xxa  1  xa  I  X  . 
xxa  I  X 
xa  \  ax 

Of  the  2355  pauses,  where  periodic  groups,  or 
logical  sections  of  groups,  terminate,  587  (almost 
exactly  one-fourth  of  the  whole  number)  occur  after 
T^xa}  This  section  of  verse  may  be  regarded  as  a 
secondary  metrical  theme  to  the  primary,  5  xa,  other 
sections  being,  in  their  turn,  variations  upon  this. 

1  The  whole  number  of  pauses  after  the  third  foot  is  696,  there  being 
75  {ax  I  2xa),  13  {2xa  \  xxa),  13  {xa  \  xxa  \  xa),  5  {2ax  \.xa), 
2  (ax  I  xa  I  xxa),  and  i  {xxa  \  2xa). 


196  AflLTON'S  BLANK    VERSE. 

Examples  of  the  Several  Kinds  of  Pauses  or 

Stops. 

And  chiefly  Thou,  O  Spirit,  that  dost  prefer 
Before  all  temples  the  upright  heart  and  pure. 
Instruct  me,  for  Thou  know'st ; 

—  i.  19. 

Or  hear'st  thou  rather,  ])ure  ethereal  stream. 
Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ? 

So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs, 
Or  dim  suftusion  veiled. 

On  to  their  morning's  rural  work  they  haste. 
Among  sweet  dews  and  flowers  ; 

—  V.  ; 

All  night,  the  dreadlcss  Angel,  un|)ursued. 
Through  Heav'ns  wide  champain  held  his  way.  till  morn. 
Waked  by  the  circling  hours,  with  rosy  hand 
Unbarred  the  gates  of  light. 


—  iii.  8. 


—  iii.  a6. 


-vi.4. 


2  xa  : 

on  his  right 

The  radiant  image  of  his  glory  sat. 

His  only  Son  : 

Freely  we  serve. 
Because  we  freely  love.  a.s  in  our  will 
To  love  or  not : 

Others  on  silver  lakes  and  rivers  bathed 
Their  downy  bre.i-st. 

2  xa  \  x: 

Rut  if  death 

Hind  us  with  after-bands,  what  profits  the 

Our  inward  freedom  ? 


—  iii.  64. 


—  V.  540- 


-  vil.  438. 


—  ix.  76a. 


MILTON'S  BLANK    VERSE.  1 97 

where  highest  woods  impenetrable 
To  star  or  sun-light,  spread  their  umbrage  broad, 
And  brown  as  ev'ning  ! 


—  ix.  1088. 


How  didst  thou  grieve  then,  Adam,  to  behold 
The  end  of  all  thy  offspring,  end  so  sad, 
Depopulation  ! 

3  jra  I  r: 

his  doom  is  fair. 

That  dust  I  am,  and  shall  to  dust  return. 

O  welcome  hour  whenever  ! 

His  starry  helm  unbuckled  showed  him  prime 
In  manhood  where  youth  ended. 

others,  whence  the  sound 
Of  instruments,  that  made  melodious  chime. 
Was  heard,  of  harp  and  organ  ; 

xa  I  x: 

They  astonished,  all  resistance  lost. 

All  courage ; 

Hell  saw 
Heav'n  ruining  from  Heav'n,  and  would  have  fled 
Affrighted ; 

Her  long  with  ardent  look  his  eye  pursued, 
Delighted ; 

Yet  oft  his  heart,  divine  of  something  ill. 
Misgave  him  : 

4ra: 

These,  lulled  by  nightingales,  embracing,  slept, 
.Vnd  on  their  naked  limbs  the  flowVy  roof 
Showered  roses,  whicii  the  morn  repaired. 


—  xi.  756. 


—  X.  771. 


•xi.  246. 


—  xi.  560. 


—  vi.  839. 


—  vi.  869. 


-ix.  398. 


—  ix.  846. 


—  IV.  773. 


198  MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE. 

So  under  fier\'  cope  together  rushed 
Both  battles  main,  with  ruinous  assault 
And  inextinguishable  rage. 

They  plucked  the  seated  hills  with  all  their  load, 
Rocks,  waters,  woods,  and,  by  the  shaggy  tops 
Uplifting,  bore  them  in  their  hands. 

xa\ 

So  on  this  windy  sea  of  land,  the  Fiend 
Walked  up  and  down  alone,  bent  on  his  prey: 
Alone : 

the  careful  plowman  doubting  stands. 
Lest  on  the  threshing-Hoor  his  hopeful  sheaves 
Prove  chaff. 

He  celebrated  rode 
Triumphant  through  mid  Hcav'n.  into  the  courts 
And  temple  of  his  Mighty  Father  throned 
On  high  ; 

in  his  own  image  he 
Created  thee,  in  the  image  of  God 
Express ; 

ax\  xa: 

Celestial  tabernacles  where  they  slept 
Fanned  with  cool  winds ; 

Saw  where  the  sword  of  Mirliacl  smote,  and  felled 
Squadrons  at  once : 

Unfeign^(l  Hallelujahs  to  thee  sing 
Hymns  of  liigh  praise  : 

And  the  third  .sacred  morn  began  to  shine 
Dawning  through  Heav'n. 


—  VI.  317. 


—  \\.  646. 


—  m.  44a. 


—  IV.  985. 


—  VI.  891. 


—  vii.  518. 


—  V.  655. 


—  VI.  951. 


—  VI.  745. 


vi.  749. 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  1 99 


He  on  his  impious  foes  right  onward  drove. 
Gloomy  as  night : 

that  milky  way, 
Which  nightly  as  a  circling  zone  thou  seest 
Powdered  with  stars. 


—  vi.  832. 


—  vii.  581. 


This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  cadences  in  the 
'  Paradise  Lost.'  See,  also,  vii.  63 1  ;  viii.  314,  389  ;  ix. 
394,  434,  465,  578;  X.  185,  304,  412,  789,  880;  xi. 
152,  240,  465,  495  ;  xii.  537,  etc. 

ax  I  2  xa  : 

The  bold  desiijn 


Pleased  highly  those  infernal  states,  and  jov 
Sparkled  in  all  their  eyes. 

On  a  green  shady  bank  profuse  of  flow'rs, 
Pensive  I  sat  me  down ; 

for  those 
Appointed  to  sit  there  had  left  their  charge. 
Flown  to  the  upper  world  ; 

Thus  was  the  applause  they  meant 
Turned  to  exploding  hiss  ; 

In  th'  midst  an  altar  as  the  land-mark  stood, 
Rustic,  of  grassy  sord.^ 

though  here  thou  see  him  die 
Rolling  in  dust  and  gore. 

So  may'st  thou  live  till,  like  ripe  fruit,  thou  drop 
Into  thy  mother's  lap,  or  he  with  ease 
Gathered,  not  harshly  plucked ; 

—  XI.  537. 
»  Sward.  Shakespeare's '  W.  T.,'  '  greene-sord  '  (ist  Folio),  iv.  4.  1 57. 


—  ii.  388. 


•  viii.  287. 


—  X.  422. 


—  X.  546. 


—  XI.  433- 


—  xi.  460. 


200  MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE. 

till  in  his  rage 
Pursuing  whom  he  late  dismissed,  the  sea 
Swallows  him  with  his  host ; 

—  xii.  196. 

This  is  also  a  beautiful  and  very  effective  cadence. 
It  occurs  seventy-five  times. 

ax  I  xa  I  x: 

Into  this  wild  abyss  the  wary  Fiend 

Stood  on  the  brink  of  Hell  and  looked  a  while, 

Pond'ring  his  voyage ; 

—  H.  919. 
And  in  their  motions  harmony  divine 
So  smoothes  her  charming  tones,  that  God's  own  ear 
Listens  delighted. 


part  huge  of  bulk 
Wallowing  unwieldly.  enormous  in  their  gait, 
Tempest  the  ocean ; 

With  burnished  neck  of  verdant  gold,  erect 
Amidst  his  circling  spires,  that  on  the  grass 
Floated  redundant. 

nor  stood  much  in  awe 
Of  man,  but  fled  him,  or  with  countenance  g^im 
Glared  on  liim  passing. 

On  the  ground 
Outstretched  he  lay,  on  the  cold  ground,  and  oft 
Cursed  his  creation  ; 

High  in  front  .idv.-inccd. 
The  brandished  sword  of  Ciod  before  ihem  blazed 
Fierce  as  a  comet ; 

ax\2xa\  x: 

who  wont  to  meet 
So  oft  in  festivals  of  joy  and  love 
Unanimous,  .xs  sons  of  one  great  sire 
Hymning  th'  Eternal  Father; 


—  V.  637. 


—  VII.  413. 


—  IX.  503. 


—  »•  7M. 


X.  853. 


—  xil.  634. 


—  vi,  96. 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  20I 

Whence  hail  to  thee, 
Eve,  rightly  called  mother  of  all  mankind, 
Mother  of  all  things  living  ; 

—  xi.  i6o. 

a  different  sort 
From  the  high  neighboring  hills,  which  were  their  seat, 
Down  to  the  plain  descended. 


those  few  escaped 
Famine  and  anguish  will  at  last  consume, 
Wandering  that  watery  desert. 

ax: 

With  parted  spears,  as  thick  as  when  a  field 
Of  Ceres  ripe  for  harvest  waving  bends 
Her  bearded  grove  of  ears,  which  way  the  wind 
Sways  them ; 

nor  is  it  aught  but  just 
That  he  who  in  debate  of  truth  hath  won 
Should  win  in  arms,  in  both  disputes  alike 
Victor ; 

who  him  defied, 
And  at  his  chariot-wheels  to  drag  him  bound 
Threatened ; 

Thus  they  in  lowliest  plight,  repentant,  stood 
Praying ; 

Studious  they  appear 
Of  arts  that  polish  life,  inventors  rare. 
Unmindful  of  their  Maker,  though  his  Spirit 
Taught  them  ; 

ax\  ^xa: 

Encroached  on  still  through  your  intestine  broils, 
Weakening  the  sceptre  of  old  Night : 


■  xi.  576. 


—  XI.  779. 


—  iv.  983. 


—  VI.  124. 


—  vi.  359- 


—  XI.  2. 


—  xi.  612. 


— 11.  looa. 


202 


MILJ  OX'S  BLANK    VERSE. 


Yet  not  the  more 
Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  Muses  haunt 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill, 
Sniit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song  ; 

All  Heav'n, 
And  happy  constellations  on  that  hour 
Shed  their  selectest  influence  I 

As  (iod  in  Heav'n 
Is  centre,  yet  extends  to  all,  so  thou 
Centring  receiv'st  from  all  those  orbs ; 

However,  1  with  thee  have  fixed  my  lot, 
Certain  to  undergo  like  doom. 

The  voice  of  God  they  heard 
Now  walking  in  the  garden,  by  soft  winds 
Brought  to  their  ears,  while  day  declined  : 

would  either  not  accept 
Life  oflTered,  or  soon  beg  to  lay  it  down, 
Glad  to  be  so  dismissed  in  peace, 

2  xa  I  XX : 

Turning  our  tortures,  into  horrid  arms 
Against  the  torturer; 

That  golden  sceptre,  which  thou  didst  reject. 
Is  now  an  iron  rod,  to  bruise  and  break 
Thy  disobedience. 

adorned 
With  what  all  Earth  or  Heaven  could  bestow 
To  make  her  amiable! 

2  xa  I  xxa  : 

Hail,  holy  Light,  oflfspring  of  Heav'n  first-born. 
Or  of  th'  Eternal  coetcrnal  beam. 
May  I  express  thee  unblamed.^ 


—  III.  29 


—  vm.  513. 


—  u.  109. 


—  IX.  953. 


—  X.  99. 


—  XI.  507. 


—  it.  64. 


—  V.  888. 


—  viii    4(14 


—  lU.  3. 


MILTON'S  BLANK  VERSE.  203 

Food  not  of  Angels,  yet  accepted  so, 

As  that  more  willingly  thou  couldst  not  seem 

At  Heaven's  high  feasts  to  have  fed  : 


—  V.  467 


arms  on  armour  clashing  brayed 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  chariots  raged  ; 

yet  oft  they  quit 
The  dank,  and  rising  on  stiff  pennons  tow'r 
The  mid  aerial  sky  : 

the  spirit  of  Man 
Which  God  inspired,  cannot  together  perish 
With  this  corporeal  clod! 

He  looked,  and  saw  a  spacious  plain,  whereon 
Were  tents  of  various  hue  : 

Then  through  the  fiery  pillar  and  the  cloud 
God,  looking  forth,  will  trouble  all  his  host, 
And  craze  their  chariot-wheels  : 

xa  I  xxa  I  xa  : 

Cherubic  songs  by  night  from  neighboring  hills 
Aerial  music  send ; 

And  now  their  mightiest  quelled,  the  battle  swerved, 
With  many  an  inroad  gored  ; 

all  the  ground 
With  shivered  armour  strewn,  and  on  a  heap 
Chariot  and  charioteer  lay  overturned. 
And  fiery  foaming  steeds  ; 

the  crested  cock,  whose  clarion  sounds 
The  silent  hours,  and  th'  other  whose  gay  train 
Adorns  him,  coloured  with  the  florid  hue 
Of  rainbows  and  starry  eyes. 


VI.   211. 


—  Vll.  442. 


■  —  X.  786. 


—  XI.  557- 


—  xu.  210. 


■V.  548. 


—  vi.  387. 


—  VI.  391. 


vii.  446. 


204  MILTON'S  BLAXK   VERSE. 

xa  I  xxa  : 

Twixt  host  and  host  but  narrow  space  was  left 
(A  dreadful  interval),  and  front  to  front 
Presented,  stood  in  terrible  array, 
Of  hideous  length. 

Forthwith  from  council  to  the  work  they  flew ; 
None  arguing  stood  ; 

Whence  heavy  persecution  shall  arise 
On  all  who  in  the  worship  persevere 
Of  spirit  and  truth  ; 

xa\xx: 

and  th"  ethereal  mould 
Incapable  of  stain  would  soon  expel 
Her  mischief,  and  purge  o(T  the  baser  fire 
Victorious. 

o'er  which  the  mantling  vine 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant : 

What  meant  that  caution  joined.  If  ye  be  found 
Obedient  ? 

and  now  went  forth  the  morn 
Such  as  in  highest  Heav'n,  arrayed  in  gold 
Emjjyreal ; 


— VI.  107. 


—  W.  508. 


—  «l«-533. 


—  II.  143. 


—  iv.  a6o. 


—  V.  514. 


—  VI.  14 


for  what  avails 
Valour  or  strength,  though  matchless.  (|uclled  with  pain 
Which  all  subcUics.  and  makes  remiss  the  hands 
Of  mightiest? 

—  vi.  459- 

At  his  command  th'  uprooted  hills  retired 

Kach  to  his  place;  they  heard  his  voice,  and  went 

Obsequious  : 

-  vi.  783. 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  20$ 

\xa  \  x: 

and  joys 

Then  sweet,  now  sad  to  mention,  through  dire  change 

BefaU'n  us  unforeseen,  unthought  of; 

—  ii.  821. 

Son  of  my  bosom,  Son  who  art  alone 

My  word,  my  wisdom,  and  effectual  might, 

All  hast  thou  spoken  as  my  thoughts  are ; 

—  iii.  171. 

Forth  flourished  thick  the  clustering  vine,  forth  crept 
The  smelling  gourd,  upstood  the  corny  reed 
Embattled  in  her  field,  and  th'  humble  shrub, 
And  bush  with  frizzled  hair  implicit. 


One  came,  methought,  of  shape  divine, 
And  said,  Thy  mansion  wants  thee,  Adam ; 

2  ax  I  xa  : 

My  Author  and  Disposer,  what  thou  bidst. 
Unargued,  I  obey  ;  so  God  ordains  ; 
God  is  thy  law,  thou  mine ; 


—  vii.  323. 


—  viii.  296. 


-iv.  637. 


The  words  '  God,'   '  thy,'  and  '  mine '  receive  the 
stress. 

Nor  yet  in  horrid  shade  or  dismal  den, 
Nor  nocent  yet,  but  on  the  grassy  herb 
Fearless,  unfeared,  he  slept. 

—  ix.  187. 

The  prefix  '  un-,'  of  '  unfeared,'  receives  the  stress. 

axx  \  xa: 

and  as  they  went, 

Shaded  with  branching  palm,  each  order  bright, 

Sung  triumph,  and  him  sung  victorious  King, 

Son,  Heir,  and  Lord,  to  him  dominion  given, 

Worthiest  to  reign. 

—  vi.  888. 


?o6  .)///.  7  O.V'S   BLANK   VERSE. 

But  Adam  with  such  counsel  nothing  swayed, 
To  better  hopes  his  more  attentive  mind 
Labouring  had  raised ; 


now  Conscience  wakes  Despair 
That  skimbcrcd,  wakes  tlie  bitter  memory 
Of  what  he  was,  what  is,  and  what  must  be 
Worse ; 

in  his  right  hand 
Grasping  ten  thousand  thunders,  which  he  sent 
Before  him,  such  ;is  in  their  souls  infixed 
IMagues. 


— X.  I013 


—  iv.  26. 


—  vi.  8^8 


But  if  thou  think,  trial  unsougiit  may  tind 

Us  both  securer  than  thus  warned  thou  seem'st. 

Go: 

Redouble  then  this  miracle,  and  say. 

How  cam'st  thou  speakabic  of  mute;  and  how 

To  me  so  friendly  grown  above  the  rest 

Of  brutal  kind,  that  daily  are  in  sight  ! 

Say  ! 

—  ix.  566. 

xa  I  xxa  I  .r: 

For  hot,  cold,  moist,  and  dry,  four  chami)ions  fierce 
Strive  here  for  ma.stVy,  and  to  battle  bring 
Their  embryon  atoms ; 

—  ii.  900. 

Nor  was  his  ear  less  pealed 
With  noises  loud  and  ruinous  (to  compare 
Great  things  with  small)  than  when  Bellona  storms 
With  all  her  batt'ring  engines  bent,  to  raze 
Some  capital  city ; 

—  li.  994. 

unsavVy  food  perhaps 
To  spiritual  natures  ; 

-  V.  40J. 


MILTON'S  BLANK    VERSE.  20y 

With  adverse  blast  upturns  them  from  the  south 
Notus  and  Afer  black,  with  thund'rous  clouds 
From  Serraliona. 


dx  I  xxa  \  xa  \  x: 

Abashed  the  Devil  stood, 
And  felt  how  awful  goodness  is,  and  saw 
Virtue  in  her  shape  how  lovely  ; 

I  to  thee  disclose 
What  inward  thence  I  feel,  not  therefore  foil'd, 
Who  meet  with  various  objects,  from  the  sense 
Variously  representing ; 

3  ;m  I  XX : 

That  thou  art  happy,  owe  to  God  ; 
That  thou  continuest  such,  owe  to  thyself; 
That  is,  to  thy  obedience  : 

but  anon 
Down  cloven  to  the  waist,  with  shattered  arms 
And  uncouth  pain  fled  bellowing. 

xax  I  2  xa  : 

and  with  the  setting  sun 
Dropt  from  the  zenith  like  a  falling  star, 
On  Lemnos,  th'  JEgean  isle : 

my  constant  thoughts 
Assured  me,  and  still  assure  : 


—  X.  703. 


—  viii.  610. 


—  V.  522. 


—  vi.  362. 


—  i.  746. 


—  V.  553- 


This    might   be    scanned    as  xa  \  xxa  \  xa.     But, 
according  to  the  construction,  the  other  is  better. 

ax\  xa  \  xxa  : 

and  forthwith  light 
Ethereal  first  of  things,  quintessence  pure. 
Sprung  from  the  deep,  and  from  her  native  east 
To  journey  through  the  aery  gloom  began. 
Sphered  in  a  radiant  cloud  ; 

—  vii.  247. 


—  X.  117. 


—  V.  407- 


—  ••  «39- 


—  vi.  86. 


20S  MILTON'S  BLANK    VERSE. 

xa  I  xxa  I  2  xa  : 

I  heard  thee  in  the  garden,  and  of  thy  voice 
Afraid,  being  naked,  hid  myself. 

xxa  I  xa : 

Therefore  what  he  gives 
(Whose  praise  be  ever  sung)  to  Man  in  part 
Spiritual,  may  of*  purest  Spirits  be  found 
No  ingratcful  food : 

ax  I  X : 

As  far  as  Gods  and  heav'nly  essences 
Can  perish ; 

xa  I  xxa  I  xa  \  x: 

The  banded  PowVs  of  Satan  hasting  on 
With  furious  expedition ; 

ax  I  xxa  : 

with  grave 
Asp<5ct  he  rose,  and  in  his  rising  seemed 
A  pillar  of  state  : 

ax  I  xa  I  XX : 

Not  Spirit.s.  yet  to  heav'nly  Spirits  briglit 
Little  inferior : 

xax : 

nigh  foundered  on  he  fares. 

Treading  the  soft  consistence,  half  on  foot. 

Half  flying; 

axx  I  3  xa : 

but  Eve 
Undecked  save  with  herself,  more  lovely  fair 
Than  Wood-JMym|)h,  or  the  fairest  (".oddess  feigned 
Of  tlirec  that  in  mount  Ida  naked  strove. 

Stood  to  entertain  lier  guest  from  Heav'n. 

-  y-  383. 

'of:  may  have  the  force  of  'by,'  the  antecedent  being  '  found'; 
or,  ibc  .nntrcc'lcnt  may  be  '  food,'  the  mciniiiR  Ixiiij^,  '  may  be  found 
no  inf^ratcful  food  of  purest  .Spirits.'     Tlw  furmi  r  is  the  belter. 


—  u.  30a. 


—  iv.  36a. 


—  ii.  943. 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE. 


209 


axx    ax: 


he  together  calls, 
Or  sevVal  one  by  one,  the  regent  pow'rs, 


Under  him  regent ; 


ax  \  2  xa  \  xxa : 

These  as  a  line  their  long  dimension  drew, 
Streaking  the  ground  with  sinuous  trace ; 

axx: 

Pleasing  was  his  shape, 

And  lovely  :  never  since  the  serpent  kind 
Lovelier : 

ax  I  xa  I  ax  |  xa  : 

In  thy  pow'r 
It  lies,  yet  ere  conception,  to  prevent 
The  race  unblest,  to  being  yet  unbegot. 
Childless  thou  art,  childless  remain  ; 

xxa  \  2  xa: 

So  both  ascend 
In  the  visions  of  God. 


—  V.  698. 


—  vii.  481. 


—  IX.  505. 


—  X.  989. 


—  XI.  377. 


The  word  'visions'  is  trisyllabic.     The  remainder 
of  the  verse  is  '  It  was  a  hill,'  2xa. 

2  xa  \  ax  \  xa: 

larger  than  whom  the  sun 

Engendered  in  the  Pythian  vale  on  slime. 

Huge  Python,  and  his  i^ow'r  no  less  he  seemed 

Above  the  rest  still  to  retain. 


—  X.  532. 


ax  \  ■^  xa  \  x: 

This  having  learned,  thou  hast  attained  the  sum 
Of  wisdom  ;  .  .   . 

,  ...  only  add 

Deeds  to  thy  knowledge  answerable  ; 


—  xii.  582. 


2IO  MILTON'S  BLANK    VERSE. 

xa  \  ax  \  X : 

Both  have  sinned  :  but  thou 

Against  Ood  only ; 
The  stress  should  be  on  the  word  '  God.' 

xxa  \  xa\  x: 

Unskilful  with  what  words  to  pray,  let  me 
Interpret  for  him,  me  his  Advocate 
And  propitiation. 

xxa  I  x: 

(not  so  thick  swarmed  once  the  soil 
Hedropt  with  blood  of  Gurgun,  or  the  isle 
Ophiusa)  ; 

xa  I  ax: 

Was  she  thy  God,  that  her  thou  didst  obey 
Before  his  voice  ? 


—  X.  931. 


—  XI.  34. 


—  X.  5»8. 


—  X.  146. 


The  word  '  his  "  receives  the  stress. 

To  appreciate  these  varied  sections  of  verses  as 
contributin}^  to  the  general  melody  and  harmony  of 
the  verse,  and  to  the  special  melody  and  harmony  of 
the  groups  to  which  they  severally  belong,  an  entire 
book,  at  least,  of  the  '  Paradise  Lost,'  should  be  read 
aloud  at  one  time. 

Hut  no  single  reading  is  sufficient  for  the  appre- 
ciation of  the  higher  forms  of  verse,  whatever  those 
forms  may  be,  any  more  than  a  single  rendering,  or 
a  single  hearing,  of  a  production  of  the  higher  music 
is  sufficient  for  its  api)reciati()n.  A  long  familiarity 
is  required  for  securing  all  the  effects,  consciously  or 
unconsciously  provided  for,  by  the  poet  and  the  musical 
composer. 

The  second  of  the  two  grand  features  of  Milton's 
blank  verse  I   have  mentioned,  is  the  melodious  and 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  211 

harmonious  grouping  of  verses  into  periods  or  stanzas 
—  larger  or  smaller  waves  of  harmony,  according  to 
the  propulsion  of  the  thought  and  feeling  which  pro- 
duces them. 

The  fusion  of  many  of  the  larger  groups  is  some- 
what due  to  what  may  be  called  theme  vowels  and 
consonants ;  certain  vowels  and  consonants  domi- 
nating throughout  a  group,  and  giving  it  a  special 
vocal  character,  but  not  often  so  dominating  as  to  be 
brought  to  the  consciousness  of  the  reader  or  hearer. 
There  is  much  subtle  initial  and  internal  alliteration 
of  consonants,  which  may  pass  entirely  unnoticed, 
but  which,  nevertheless,  contributes  to  the  general 
melodious  and  harmonious  effect  of  a  group.  This 
may  be  largely  attributable  to  a  fact  already  alluded 
to,  that  strongly  esemplastic  feeling,  in  the  expression 
of  itself,  attracts  certain  vocal  elements  which  best 
chime  with,  and  serve  to  conduct,  it. 

In  the  following  examples,  I  have  given,  generally, 
groups  of  average  length,  which  the  student  can 
readily  hold  together,  rather  than  long-sustained 
groups,  of  which  the  '  Paradise  Lost '  abounds  in 
notable  examples.  As  Matthew  Browne  [W.  B. 
Rands],  in  his  '  Chaucer's  England,' remarks  :  'The 
power  of  taking  a  long  sweep  before  coming  to  a 
pause,  and  then  beginning  again  with  a  spring  from 
the  pausing-point,  is  a  well-known  characteristic  of 
the  best  poetry.  It  is  a  characteristic  of  which  we 
had  the  last  viagnificettt  example  in  Milton.' 

After  citing  Book  i,  576-587,  he  adds:  'This  is 
only  a  portion  of  the  sentence,  which  in  its  complete 
form  extends  over  seventeen   lines  of   Milton's  text 


212  MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE. 

[571-587]  ;  but  it  will  suffice  to  exhibit  to  the  least 
accustomed  j^erson,  especially  if  he  will  read  it  out 
loud,  what  is  meant  by  length  or  strength  of  poetic 
flight.  It  will  be  observed  in  reading  it,  that  the 
voice  is  kept  in  suspense,  held  as  it  were  in  the 
air  over  the  theme,  and  cannot  come  suddenly  to 
a  cadence.' 

The  student  should  memorize  all  the  examples 
given,  and  afterwards  frequently  repeat  them  aloud, 
until  he  completely  feel  the  flow,  and  continuity,  and 
melodious  cadence  of  each  : 

Him  llie  Almiji;lity  Power 
Hurled  headlong  flaming  from  th"  ctlicrx-al  sky. 
With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion,  down 
To  bottomless  perdition,  there  to  dwell 
In  adamantine  chains  and  jicnal  fire. 
Who  durst  defy  th'  Omnipotent  to  arms. 

—  >•  43-49- 

He  scarce  had  finished,  when  sucli  murmur  filleii 

Th'  assembly,  as  when  lioilow  rocks  retain 

The  sound  of  blust'ring  winds,  which  all  night  long 

Had  roused  the  sea,  now  with  hoarse  cadence  lull 

.Seafaring  men  o'erwatched,  whose  bark  i)y  chance 

Or  pinnace  anchors  in  a  craggy  bay 

After  the  tempest. 

—  ii.  384-390. 

Then  of  their  session  ended  they  bid  cr)- 
With  tnmipets'  regal  sound  the  great  result : 
TowVds  the  four  winds  four  sjieedy  Chrnibim 
Tut  to  their  mouths  the  sounding  alchemy 
Hy  henild's  voice  ex|)lained  ;  the  hollow  abyss 
Heard  far  and  wide,  and  all  the  host  of  Hell 
With  deaPning  shout  returned  them  loud  acclaim. 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  213 

In  discourse  more  sweet 
(For  eloquence  the  soul,  song  charms  the  sense) 
Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retired, 
In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reasoned  high 
Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate, 
Fixed  fate,  free-will,  foreknowledge  absolute. 
And  found  no  end,  in  wandVing  mazes  lost. 


"•  555-561. 


Far  off  from  these,  a  slow  and  silent  stream, 
Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 
Her  watry  labyrinth,  whereof  who  drinks 
Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgets  — 
Forgets  both  joy  and  grief,  pleasure  and  pain. 


—  ii.  582-586. 


Through  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 
They  passed,  and  many  a  region  dolorous, 
O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp, 

Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death  — 
A  universe  of  death,  which  God  by  curse 
Created  evil,  for  evil  only  good, 
Where  all  life  dies,  death  lives,  and  nature  breeds, 
Per\-erse,  all  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 
Abominable,  inutterable,  and  worse 
Than  fables  yet  have  feigned,  or  fear  conceived, 
Gorgons  and  Hydras,  and  Chimeras  dire. 


—  ii.  618-628. 


I  fled,  and  cried  out  Death ! 
Hell  trembled  at  the  hideous  name,  and  sighed 
From  all  her  caves,  and  back  resounded  Death ! 

On  a  sudden  open  fl)-. 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound, 
Th'  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder,  that  the  lowest  bottom  shook 
Of  Erebus. 


—  ii.  787-789. 


—  ii.  879-883. 


214  MILTON'S  BLANK'    rEKSE. 

No  sooner  had  th'  Almighty  ceased  but  —  all 

The  multitude  of  Angels,  with  a  shout 

Loud  as  from  numbers  without  number,  sweet 

As  from  blest  voices,  uttering  joy  —  Ik-avcn  rung 

With  juljilee,  and  loud  Hosannahs  filled 

Th'  eternal  regions. 

Sweet  is  the  breath  of  Morn,  her  rising  sweet, 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  pleasant  the  Sun, 
When  first  on  tliis  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower, 
GlistVing  with  dew ;  fragrant  the  fertile  Earth 
After  soft  showers  ;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  Evening  mild  ;  then  silent  N'ight, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  iMoon< 
And  these  the  gems  of  Heaven,  her  starry  train  : 
But  neither  breath  of  Morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  nor  rising  Sun 
On  this  deligiitful  land  :  nor  herb,  fniit.  flower, 
(ilist'ring  with  dew  ;  nor  fragrance  after  showers  : 
Nor  grateful  Evening  mild  ;  nor  silent  Night. 
With  this  her  solemn  bird  ;  nor  walk  by  Moon. 
Or  glitt'ring  star-light,  without  thee  is  sweet. 

How  often,  from  the  stec]) 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket,  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air. 
Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other's  note, 
.Singing  their  great  Creator  ! 


—  «»•  344-349- 


—  iv.  641-6S6. 


—  iv.  680-684. 


At  once  on  the  eastern  cliff  of  Paradise 

He  light.s,  and  to  his  proi)er  shape  return.s, 

A  seraph  winged  ;  six  wings  he  wore  to  shade 

His  lineaments  divine:  the  pair  that  clad 

Each  shoulder  broad  came  mantling  o'er  his  breast 

With  regal  ornament  ;   the  middle  paii 

Crirt  like  a  starry  zone  his  waist,  and  round 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  21  5 

Skirted  his  loins  and  thighs  with  downy  gold 
And  colours  dipt  in  Heaven ;  the  third  his  feet 
Shadowed  from  either  heel  with  feathered  mail, 
Sky-tinctured  grain  ;  like  Maia's  son  he  stood 
And  shook  his  plumes,  that  heavenly  fragrance  filled 
The  circuit  wide. 


275-287. 


Meanwhile  in  other  parts  like  deeds  deserved 
Memorial,  where  the  might  of  Gabriel  fought. 
And  with  fierce  ensigns  pierced  the  deep  array 
Of  Moloch,  furious  King,  who  him  defied, 
And  at  his  chariot-wheels  to  drag  him  bound 
Threatened,  nor  from  the  Holy  One  of  Heaven 
Refrained  his  tongue  blasphemous,  but  anon 
Down  cloven  to  the  waist,  with  shattered  arms 
And  uncouth  pain  fled  bellowing. 


—  vi.  354-362. 


They  astonished,  all  resistance  lost. 
All  courage  ;  down  their  idle  weapons  dropt ; 
O'er  shields,  and  helms,  and  helmed  heads  he  rode 
Of  Thrones  and  mighty  Seraphim  prostrate. 
That  wished  the  mountains  now  might  be  again 
Thrown  on  them,  as  a  shelter  from  his  ire. 


vi.  838-843. 


On  Heavenly  ground  they  stood,  and  from  the  shore 
They  viewed  the  vast  immeasurable  Abyss 
Outrageous  as  a  sea,  dark,  wasteful,  wild, 
Up  from  the  bottom  turned  by  furious  winds 
And  surging  waves,  as  mountains,  to  assault 
Heaven's  highth,  and  with  the  centre  mi.\  the  pole. 


—  VII.  210-215. 


There  was  a  place. 
Now  not,  the'  sin,  not  time,  first  wrought  the  change. 
Where  Tigris  at  the  foot  of  Paradi.se 
Into  a  gulf  shot  under  ground,  till  part 
Rose  up  a  fountain  l)y  the  Tree  of  Life  : 
In  with  the  river  sunk,  and  with  it  ro.se 


2l6  MILTON'S  BLANK'    VERSE. 

Satan,  involved  in  rising  mist,  then  sought 
Where  to  lie  hid ;  sea  he  had  searched  and  land 
From  Eden  over  Pontus,  and  the  pool 
Mxotis,  up  beyond  the  river  Ob ; 
Downward  as  far  antarctic  :  and  in  length 
West  from  Orontes  to  the  ocean  barred 
At  Darien,  thence  to  the  land  where  flows 
Ganges  and  Indus  :  thus  the  orb  he  roamed 
With  narrow  search,  and  with  insjjcction  deep 
Considered  every  creature,  wiiich  of  all 
Most  opportune  might  ser\'e  his  wiles,  and  found 
The  serjJent  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field. 


—  ix.  69-86. 


So  saying,  through  each  thicket,  dank  or  dry. 

Like  a  black  mist  low  creeping,  he  held  on 

His  midnight  search,  where  soonest  he  might  find 

The  serpent :  him  fast  sleeping  soon  he  found. 

In  labyrinth  of  many  a  round  .self-rolled. 

His  head  the  midst,  well  stored  with  subtle  wiles: 

Nor  yet  in  horrid  shade  or  dismal  den, 

Nor  nocent  yet,  but  on  the  grassy  herb 

Fearless,  unfeared,  he  slept. 

—  ix.  179-187. 

Thus  .saying,  from  her  husband's  hand  her  hand 
Soft  she  withdrew,  and,  like  a  wood-nymph  light, 
(Jread  or  Dryad,  or  of  Delias  train, 
Hetook  her  to  the  groves  ;  but  Delia's  self 
In  gait  surpassed,  and  godde.ss-like  deport. 
Though  not  as  she  with  bow  and  (|uiver  armed. 
lUit  with  such  gardening  tools  a.s  Art,  yet  rude, 
(iuiltless  of  fire,  had  formed,  or  Angels  brought. 


—  ix.  38$-39«' 


As  one  who,  long  in  populous  city  pent. 
Where  hou.ses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the  air, 
Forth  issuing  on  a  summer's  morn,  to  breathe 
Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  farms 
Adjoined,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight  — 


MILTON'S  BLANK   VERSE.  21/ 

The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass,  or  kine. 
Or  dairy,  each  rural  sight,  each  rural  sound  — 
If  chance  with  nymph-like  step  fair  virgin  pass, 
What  pleasing  seemed,  for  her  now  pleases  more. 
She  most,  and  in  her  look  sums  all  delight. 


■IX.  445-454. 


So  spake  the  Enemy  of  Mankind,  enclosed 
In  serpent,  inmate  bad,  and  toward  Eve 
Addressed  his  way  —  not  with  indented  wave, 
Prone  on  the  ground,  as  since,  but  on  his  rear, 
Circular  base  of  rising  folds,  that  towered 
Fold  above  fold,  a  surging  maze ;  his  head 
Crested  aloft,  and  carbuncle  his  eyes  ; 
With  burnished  neck  of  verdant  gold,  erect 
Amidst  his  circling  spires,  that  on  the  grass 
Floated  redundant. 


—  IX.  494-503. 


On  the  other  side,  Adam,  soon  as  he  heard 
The  fatal  trespass  done  by  Eve,  amazed, 
Astonied  stood  and  blank,  while  horror  cliill 
Ran  through  his  veins,  and  all  his  joints  rela.xed  : 
From  his  .slack  hand  the  garland,  wreathed  for  Eve, 
Down  dropt,  and  all  the  faded  roses  shed. 

—  ix.  888-893. 

Immediately  a  place 
Before  his  eyes  appeared,  sad,  noisome,  dark  ; 
A  lazar-house  it  seemed,  wherein  were  laid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased,  all  maladies 
Of  ghastly  spasm,  or  racking  torture,  qualms 
Of  heart-sick  agony,  all  feverous  kinds, 
Convulsion.s,  epilepsies,  fierce  catarrhs, 
Intestine  stone  and  ulcer,  colic  pangs, 
Demoniac  phrenzy,  moping  melancholy. 
And  moon-struck  madness,  pining  atrophy, 
Marasmus,  and  wide-wasting  pestilence, 
Dropsies,  and  asthmas,  and  joint-racking  rheums.- 

Dire  was  the  tossing,  deep  the  groans  ;  Despair 
Tended  the  sick,  busiest,  from  couch  to  couch ; 


2l8  MILTON'S  BIAXK    VERSE. 

And  over  them  triumphant  Death  his  dart 
Shook,  but  delayed  to  strike,  though  oft  invoked 
With  vows,  as  their  chief  good  and  final  hope. 

—  X'-  477-488:  489-493- 

High  in  front  advanced. 
The  brandished  sword  of  (lod  before  them  blazed 
Fierce  as  a  comet ;  which  with  torrid  heat, 
And  vapour  as  the  Libyan  air  adust, 
Began  to  parch  that  temperate  clime ;  whereat 
In  either  hand  the  hastening  Angel  caught 
Our  lingering  parents,  and  to  the  eastern  gate 
Led  them  direct,  and  down  the  clitTas  fast 
To  the  subjected  plain  —  then  disappeared. 

—  xii.  632-640. 

Coleridge,  in  the  third  of  his  '  Satyrane's  Letters,' 
gives  an  account  of  his  visit  with  Wordsworth  to  the 
poet  Klopstock.  In  the  course  of  their  conversation, 
Klopstock  talked  of  Milton  and  Glover,  and  thought 

Glover's  blank  verse   superior  to   Milton's.     'W 

and  myself  expressed  our  surprise;  and  my  friend 
gave  his  definition  and  notion  of  harmonious  verse, 
that  it  consisted  {the  English  iambic  blank  verse  above 
all)  in  the  apt  arrangement  of  f>anscs  and  cadences, 
and  the  siueep  of  ivhole  paragraphs, 

with  many  a  winditu;  bout 
Of  linkhi  sweetness  long  drawn  out, 

and  not  in  the  even  flow,  much  less  in  the  prominence 
or  antithetic  vigor  of  single  lines,  which  were  indeed 
injurious  to  the  total  effect,  except  where  they  zoere 
introduced  for  some  specific  purpose.  Klopstock  as- 
sented, and  said  that  he  meant  to  confine  Glover's 
superiority  to  single  lines.'     lie    probably   had    not 


MILTON'S  BLANK    VERSE.  219 

appreciated  any  English  blank  verse  beyond  the  in- 
dividual line,  if  even  so  much  as  that. 

Here  we  have  what  was  probably  the  first  true 
characterization  of  Milton's  blank  verse  given  in 
1798  or  1799.  Mr.  John  Addington  Symonds  has 
worked  up  this  characterization  in  his  article  on  the 
blank  verse  of  Milton  in  the  '  Fortnightly  Review,' 
December  i,  1874,  pp.  767-781,  in  which  he  states 
that  '  the  secret  of  complex  and  melodious  blank 
verse  lies  in  preserving  the  balance  and  proportion  of 
syllables  while  varying  their  accent  and  their  relative 
weight  and  volume,  so  that  each  line  in  a  period  shall 
carry  its  proper  burden  of  sound,  but  the  burden  shall 
be  differently  distributed  in  the  successive  verses.' 

Dc  Quincey,  in  a  somewhat  humorous  passage  in 
his  essay  entitled  *  Milton  vs.  Southey  and  Landor,' 
says  :  '  You  might  as  well  tax  Mozart  with  harshness 
in  the  divinest  passages  of  "  Don  Giovanni "  as  Mil- 
ton with  any  such  offence  against  metrical  science. 
Be  assured,  it  is  yourself  that  do  not  read  with  un- 
derstanding, not  Milton  that  by  possibility  can  be 
found  deaf  to  the  demands  of  perfect  harmony.  You 
are  tempted,  after  walking  round  a  line  threescore 
times,  to  exclaim  at  last,  "  Well,  if  the  Fiend  himself 
should  rise  up  before  me  at  this  very  moment,  in  this 
very  study  of  mine,  and  say  that  no  screw  was  loose 
in  that  line,  then  would  I  reply,  '  Sir,  with  submis- 
sion, you  are '"     "What!"   suppose  the   Fiend 

suddenly  to  demand  in  thunder,  "  What  am  I .' " 
"Horribly  wrong,"  you  wish  exceedingly  to  say; 
but,  recollecting  that  some  people  are  choleric  in 
argument,  you  confine  yourself  to  the  polite  answer, 


220  SOA//-:   B/.AXK    VERSE   SLVCE  MILTON. 

"  that,  with  deference  to  his  better  education,  you 
conceive  him  to  lie;" — that's  a  bad  word  to  drop 
your  voice  upon  in  talking  with  a  fiend,  and  you  has- 
ten to  add,  "under  a  slight,  a  ?r;;j' slight  mistake." 
Ay,  you  might  venture  on  that  opinion  with  a  fiend. 
Hut  how  if  an  angel  should  undertake  the  case  ?  and 
angelic  was  the  ear  of  Milton.  Many  are  the  primd 
facie  anomalous  lines  in  Milton ;  many  are  the  sus- 
picious lines,  which  in  many  a  book  I  have  seen 
many  a  critic  peering  into  with  eyes  made  up  for 
mischief,  yet  with  a  misgiving  that  all  was  not  quite 
safe,  very  much  like  an  old  raven  looking  down  a 
marrow  bone.  In  fact,  such  is  the  metri.cal  skill  of 
the  man,  and  such  the  perfection  of  his  metrical  sen- 
sibility, that,  on  any  attempt  to  take  liberties  with  a 
passage  of  his,  you  feel  as  when  coming,  in  a  forest, 
upon  what  seems  a  dead  lion  ;  perhajjs  he  may  not 
be  dead,  but  only  sleeijing  ;  nay,  perhaps  he  may  not 
be  sleeping,  but  only  shamming.  And  you  have  a 
jealou.sy,  as  to  Milton,  even  in  the  most  flagrant  case 
of  almo.st  palj)able  error,  that,  after  all,  there  may  be 
a  plot  in  it.  You  may  be  put  down  with  shame  by 
some  man  reading  the  line  otherwise,  reading  it  with 
a  different  emjjhasis,  a  different  caisura,  or,  perhaps, 
a  different  suspension  of  the  voice,  so  as  to  bring 
out  a  new  and  self-justifying  effect.' 

Postscript  on  Somk  Blank  Vkksr  since  Milton. 

In  regard  to  the  blank  verse  produced  since  Milton, 
space  will  allow  a  reference  only  to  some  of  the  best. 
Sir  Henry  Taylor,  in  his  letter  to  Sir  John  Her.schel, 


SOME  BLANK   VERSE   SINCE  MILTON.  221 

August  26,  1862  ('Correspondence,'  edited  by  Pro- 
fessor Dowden),  is  hardly  just  in  his  estimate  of  it: 
...  'for  more  than  a  hundred  years  the  art  of  writ- 
ing anything  but  the  heroic  couplet  seems  to  have 
been  lost,  .  .  .  and  when  our  verse  ceased  to  clank 
this  chain,  it  rose  into  lyrical  movements  of  some  force 
and  freedom,  but  to  me  it  seems  never  to  have  recov- 
ered the  subtle  and  searching  power  and  consonantal 
pith  which  it  lost  in  that  fatal  eighteenth  century, 
when  our  language  itself  was  dethroned  and  levelled. 
The  blank  verse  of  Young  and  Cowper  in  the  last 
century,  or  (with  the  exception  of  occasional  pas- 
sages) of  Southey  and  Wordsworth  in  this,  is,  to  my 
mind,  no  more  like  that  of  the  better  Elizabethans 
than  a  turnpike  road  is  like  a  bridle  path,  or  a  plan- 
tation like  a  forest.' 

Just  what  he  meant  to  convey  by  the  comparisons 
with  which  this  extract  concludes  is  not  entirely  evi- 
dent ;  but  that  a  too  sweeping  condemnation  is  in- 
volved of  the  blank  verse  produced  since  the  Eliza- 
bethan era  is  evident  enough. 

The  blank  verse  of  Cowper's  '  Task  '  is  admirably 
adapted  to  the  theme,  which  did  not  admit  of  a  more 
elaborate  style  of  verse.  (The  first  ninety-five  verses 
of  '  The  Winter  Morning  Walk  '  afford  a  good  speci- 
men of  it.)  Cowper  saw  further  than  any  one  before 
him  had  seen,  into  the  secrets  of  the  elaborate  music 
of  Milton's  blank  verse,  and  availed  himself  of  those 
secrets  to  some  extent  —  to  as  far  an  extent  as  the 
simplicity  of  his  themes  demanded.  Whether^  he 
could  have  treated  loftier  themes  in  blank  verse  in- 
volving more  of  those  secrets,  is  another  question. 


222  SOME   BLANK'   VEKSE   SINCE  MILTON. 

There  are  passages,  however,  in  liis  translations  of 
the  '  Iliad '  and  the  *  Odyssey  '  which  indicate  that  he 
might  well  have  done  so,  and  make  one  regret  that 
he  wasted  his  time  on  Homeric  translation. 

The  blank  verse  of  Southey's  '  Roderick,  the  Last 
of  the  Goths  '  has  great  merit  as  narrative  verse,  and 
is  worthy  of  careful  study.  The  variations  on  the 
theme-metre,  and  the  resultant  pause  melody,  show 
not  only  great  metrical  skill,  but  a  moulding  spirit 
which  is  quite  a  law  to  itself,  and  beyond  mere  skill. 

Wordsworth's  '  Yew  Trees '  is  a  bit  of  masterful 
blank  verse  which  ranks  with  the  very  best  in  the 
language.  His  '  Lines  composed  a  few  miles  above 
Tintern  Abbey,'  which  announced  the  advent  of  a 
new  gospel  of  poetry,  have  a  charm  j)eculiarly  their 
own  —  a  prevailing  tone  which  is  a  radiation  of  the 
feeling  embodied.  The  verse  of  his  'Nutting'  and 
'  Michael '  has  a  simjilicity  and  directness,  and  an  easy 
go,  which  are  very  charming.  The  blank  verse  of 
•  The  Prelude '  and  '  The  Excursion  '  is  unequal  in 
merit,  there  being  a  good  deal  of  subject-matter  in 
both  compositions  of  a  quality  not  demanding  other 
than  a  prose  expression ;  but  they  abound  in  speci- 
mens of  blank  verse  of  a  high  order. 

The  blank  verse  of  Shelley's  '  Alastor ;  or,  the 
Spirit  of  Solitude'  has  an  animated  majesty  which 
readers  the  least  regardful  of  verse  must  feel  and 
enjoy  to  some  extent.  The  opening  invocation  to 
'  Karth,  ocean,  air,  beloved  brotherhood  ! '  extending 
to  the  forty-ninth  verse ;  the  verses  enumerating  the 
solemn  places  which  the  Poet's  wandering  stej)  had 
visited  (106-128);  those  descriptive  of  '  the  ethereal 


SOME  BLANK    VERSE   SINCE  MILTON.  223 

cliffs  of  Caucasus ' ;  of  the  cavern  which  '  ingulphcd  the 
rushing  sea,'  and  its  windings  which  the  Poet's  boat 
pursued ;  of  the  forest  which  he  explored,  '  one  vast 
mass  of  mingling  shade,  whose  brown  magnificence 
a  narrow  vale  embosoms'  (351-468),  are  especially  to 
be  noted.  But  the  verse  throughout  is  very  noble. 
Effective  extra  end-syllables  crop  out  occasionally. 

The  blank  verse  of  Matthew  Arnold's  '  Sohrab  and 
Rustum  '  illustrates  his  own  definition  of  the  grand 
style,  given  in  his  essay  '  On  translating  Homer ' :  '  I 
think  it  will  be  found  that  the  grand  style  arises  in 
poetry  wJieJi  a  7ioble  nature,  poetically  gifted,  treats 
ivith  simplicity  or  zvith  severity  a  serious  subject.'  A 
very  comprehensive  definition.  If  he  had  said,  'When 
one  poetically  gifted,'  etc.,  omitting  'a  noble  nature,' 
the  definition  would  have  been  imperfect.  Simplic- 
ity and  severity,  in  the  treatment  of  a  serious  subject, 
demand  a  noble  nature.  They  must  be  the  expres- 
sion of  the  poet's  own  moral  constitution.  In  a  poem 
which  is  largely  the  product  of  literary  skill,  and  is 
not  truly  honest  (the  feeling  being  more  or  less 
affected),  there  is  quite  sure  to  be,  in  places,  a  greater 
or  less  strain  of  expression.  High  art  (which  is  more 
than  technique,  and  insist  involve  the  personality  of 
the  artist)  is  characterized  by  the  absence  of  strain. 
'  Sohrab  and  Rustum  '  is  absolutely  without  the  slight- 
est strain.  Some  readers  may  feel  that  there  is  too 
much  of  artistic  restraint  in  it. 

Who  reads  this  measure,  flowing  strong  and  deep. 
It  seems  to  him  old  Homer's  voice  he  hears. ^ 

^  Edith  M.  Thomas's  sonnet  'After  reading  Arnold's  Sohrab  and 
Rustum.' 


224  SOME   BLANK'    J'ERSE   S/.VCE  Jf/LTON. 

The  cadence  of  the  poem,  which  sets  in  at  the  36th 
verse  from  the  end,  '  So,  on  the  bloody  sand,  Sohrab 
lay  dead,'  has  a  sweet  solemnity  to  which  the  move- 
ment of  the  verse  contributes  much. 

The  abundant  extracts  given  in  Section  V.  of  this 
book,  from  Tennyson's  '  Princess '  and  '  Idylls  of  the 
King,'  as  examples  of  organic  variety  of  measures, 
are  sufficient  to  show  his  triumphant  skill  in  the  writ- 
ing of  blank  verse.  And  the  extract  from  his  '  Enoch 
Arden,'  on  pages  6  and  7,  is  a  notable  exami)le  of  it. 
His  blank  verse,  too,  has  its  own  distinct  character. 
It  gives  out  no  echoes  of  any  of  his  great  predeces- 
.sors,  so  far  as  my  own  ears  have  heard.  It  is  an 
expression  of  his  own  jKietic  temperament. 

Already  in  his  '  Timbuctoo,'  which  took  the  Chan- 
cellor's medal  at  the  Cambridge  Commencement  in 
1829,  when  he  was  in  his  twentieth  year,  he  showed 
a  remarkable  mastery  over  this  most  difficult  form  of 
verse. 

But  notwithstanding  the  high  excellence  of  all  the 
blank  verse  he  has  written,  there  is  none,  jjerhaps, 
superior  to  that  of  his  '  Morte  d'Arthur,'  first  j)ub- 
lished  in  1842  (many  years  before  the  original  '  Idylls 
of  the  King'  were  published),  and  afterwards  incorpo- 
rated in  the  concluding  Idyll  of  the  series,  'The  Pass- 
ing of  Arthur.'     It  is  eminently  noble. 

All  things  considered,  the  greatest  achievement  of 
the  century  in  blank  verse,  is  Robert  Browning's  'The 
Ring  and  the  liook.'  I  don't  mean  the  greatest  in 
bulk  (although  it  is  that,  having  21,134  verses,  double 
the  number  of  the  'Paradise  Lost');  I  mean  the 
greatest  achievement  in  the  effective  use  of  blank 


SOME  BLANK   VERSE   SINCE  MILTON.  225 

verse  in  the  treatment  of  a  great  subject  —  really  the 
greatest  subject,  when  viewed  aright,  which  has  been 
treated  in  English  poetry  —  vastly  greater  in  its  bear- 
ings upon  the  highest  education  of  man  than  that  of 
the  '  Paradise  Lost.'  Its  blank  verse,  while  having  a 
most  complex  variety  of  character,  is  the  most  dra- 
matic blank  verse  since  the  Elizabethan  era.  Hav- 
ing read  the  entire  poem  aloud  to  classes  every  year 
for  several  years,  I  feel  prepared  to  speak  of  the 
transcendent  merits  of  the  verse.  One  reads  it  with- 
out a  sense  almost  of  there  being  anything  artificial 
in  the  construction  of  the  language ;  and  by  artificial 
I  mean  put  consciously  into  a  certain  shape.  Of 
course,  it  ivas  put  consciously  into  shape ;  but  one 
gets  the  impression  that  the  poet  thought  and  felt 
spontaneously  in  blank  verse.  And  it  is  always 
verse  —  though  the  reader  has  but  a  minimum  of 
metre  consciousness.  And  the  method  of  the  thought 
is  always  poetic.  This  is  saying  much,  but  not  too 
much.  All  moods  of  the  mind  are  in  the  poem, 
expressed  in  Protean  verse. 

Many  other  of  Browning's  poems  (and  they  rank 
with  his  greatest  productions)  are  in  blank  verse 
which,  in  each,  has  its  own  distinctly  peculiar  char- 
acter. Among  these  should  be  especially  noted, 
'How  it  strikes  a  Contemporary'  (1855),  'An  Epistle 
containing  the  strange  medical  Experiences  of  Kar- 
shish,  the  Arab  Physician'  (1855),  'F'ra  Lippo  Lippi' 
(1855),  'Andrea  del  Sarto'  (1855),  'The  Bi.shop  orders 
his  Tomb  at  St.  Praxed's  Church'  (1845),  'Bishop 
Blougram's  Apology '  (1855),  'Cleon'  (1855),  'A  Death 
in  the  Desert'  (1864),  'Caliban  upon  Setebos'  (1864), 


226  SOME   BLANK'    VERSE   SINCE  MILTON. 

'Mr.  Sludge  the  Medium'  (1864),  ' Balaustion's  Ad- 
venture' (187 1). 

All  of  these,  with  four  exceptions,  were  published 
some  years  before  Sir  Henry  Taylor  pronounced  his 
verdict  upon  the  later  blank  verse.  The  verse  of 
each  is  unique  in  character,  and  of  eminent  merit. 
But  no  one,  however  trained  in  verse,  could  appre- 
ciate it  through  a  single  reading.  There  are  too 
many  subtle  effects  provided  for  to  be  got  at  once. 

He  who  adequately  appreciates  the  verse  of  these 
poems,  must  regard  Robert  Browning  as  one  of  the 
greatest  masters  of  language-shaping. 


INDEX. 


Abbott,  E.  A.,  quoted  on  Shake- 
speare's verse,  47. 

'  ABC,"  Chaucer's,  stanza  of,  92. 

Accent,  3;  effects  secured  by  the 
shifting  of,  35-50. 

'  Adonais,'  Shelley's,  the  stanza  of, 
117-120. 

'  Afterthought,'  Wordsworth's,  on 
the  river  Duddon,  169. 

Alexandrines,  specially  enforced,  of 
Spenser's  '  Faerie  Queene,'  96- 
98. 

Alliteration,  an  important  element 
of  English  verse,  9 ;  examples  of, 
from  Chaucer,  10-13 ;  from  Shake- 
speare, 14, 15 ;  from  King  James's 
Bible,  16;  from  Tennyson,  16- 
18. 

'  Amoretti,'  Spenser's,  182,  183. 

Ariosto,  referred  to,  as  a  sonneteer, 
144,  147. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  quoted  on  Words- 
worth, 149;  on  Wordsworth's  son- 
net,'Afterthought,'  168, 169;  blank 
verse  of  his  'Sohrab  and  Rustum,' 
223,  224. 

'  Ballade  de  Vilage  sauns  Peynture,' 
Chaucer's,  stanza  of,  92. 

Bayne,  Peter,  quoted  on  the  verse 
of  Tennyson's  'Maud,'  69;  on 
the  stanza  of  '  The  Palace  of  Art," 
81,  82;  on  a  stanza  of  Shelley's 
'Adonais,'  118. 

Beattie,  James,  quoted  on  English 


rhymes,  99;  the  stanza  of  his 
'  Minstrel,'  108. 

Bentley,  Dr.  Richard,  his  want  of 
appreciation  of  Milton's  verse,  45. 

Blank  verse,  general  remarks  on, 
186;  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of 
Surrey's,  188;  Nicholas  Grim- 
oald's,  188,  189;  of  Norton  and 
Sackville's  '  Gorboduc ' ;  of  Mar- 
lowe's '  Edward  the  Second '  and 
'  Tamburlaine,'  189,  190;  Shake- 
speare's, 191,  192;  Milton's,  193- 
220;  blank  verse  since  Milton, 
220-226. 

'  Bridge  of  Sighs,'  Hood's,  its  double 
and  triple  rhymes,  30. 

Browne,  Matthew,  quoted  on  blank 
verse,  211,  212. 

Browning,  Mrs.  E.  B.,  her  use  of  the 
double  rhyme,  25,  26;  her  'Son- 
nets from  the  Portuguese,'  175- 
179. 

Browning,  Robert,  example  from, 
of  melody,  5,  6;  a  master  of 
rhyme,  26;  the  blank  verse  of 
his  '  Ring  and  the  Book,'  and  of 
other  poems,  224-226. 

Burns,  Robert,  his  '  Cotter's  Satur- 
day Night,'  108. 

Butler's  '  Hudibras,'  23. 

Byron,  Lord,  his  use  of  the  ottava 
rima  in  '  Don  Juan,"  etc.,  92;  of 
Spenser's  stanza,  in  '  Childe  Har- 
old,' 125-131 ;  his  'Sonnet  on 
Chillon,'  173. 


227 


228 


INDEX. 


Campbell,  Thomas,  his  '  Gertrude 
of  Wyoming,"  io8. 

'Castle  of  Indolence,"  Thomson's, 
the  stanza  of,  109-111. 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey,  example  from, 
of  melody,  8 ;  his  use  of  allitera- 
tion, 10-13;  '*i*^  'Monk's  Tale' 
stanz;i,  the  basis  of  Spenser's,  92 ; 
example  of,  9a,  93;  other  of  his 
poems  in  which  the  stanza  is 
used,  93. 

'  Childe  Harold,'  Byron's,  stanza  of. 
125-131. 

Chillon,  Byron's  sonnet  on,  173. 

'  Christabel,'  Coleridge's,  its  melody, 
i8-ai. 

Christopher  North  (Prof.  John  Wil- 
son), quoted  on  Mnglish  rhymes, 
100. 

'  Christ's  Victory  and  Triumph,' 
Giles  Fletcher's  stanza  of,  135, 
136. 

Coleridge,  S.T.,  i ;  quoted  on  verse, 
18 ;  his  subtle  sense  of  melody,  as 
exhibited  in  'Christabel,'  18-21. 

Collins,  William,  his  '  Ode  on  the 
I'assions'  as  a  rhyme  study,  23-25. 

Colonna,  Vittoria,  referred  to  as  a 
sonneteer,  144,  147. 

Colvin,  Sitlney,  quoted  on  Keats"s 
'Eve  of  St.  Agnes,"  120,  121,  122, 

i»3.  '^4- 
*  Compleyntc   of    a    Ixveres   Lyfe," 

Chaucer's,   stanza  of   Envoy   to, 

9a. 
Cowlcf,   Abraham,    Dr.    John5on"5 

stricture  on  his  verse,  39. 
Cowpcr,  William,  his  appreciation 

of  Millon"s  verse,  45;    the  blank 

verse  of  'The  Task,"  221,  222. 
'(J<jw|mt'»  Grave,"  Mrs.  Browning's, 

lis  double  rhymes,  26. 
'  Curse,  The,  of  Kehama,'  Southey's, 

its  varied  metres,  3X 


'  Daisy,  The,'  Tennyson's,  its  stanza, 

84,  85. 
Dante,  referred  to  as  a  sonneteer, 

144.  147- 

Denham,  Sir  John,  Dryden's  esti- 
mate of  the  verse  of  his  'Cooper's 
Hill.'  107. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  quoted  on 
'  amphitheatre  of  woods,"  '  amphi- 
theatre of  hills,"  161 ;  on  Milton's 
verse,  219,  220. 

'  Divina  Commedia,"  Longfellow's 
sonnets  on  the,  153,  154,  156. 

Double  rhymes,  26,  28,  29.  30. 

Dryden,  John,  his  rhetorical  non- 
sense, 106,  107. 

Dyce,  Alexander,  Wordsworth's 
letter  to,  on  the  sor>net,  164,  165. 

Earle,  I'rof.  John,  quoted  on  the 
alliteration  of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry, 
13  (note). 

Eckermann's  '  Gespn'iche  mit 
Goethe,"  quotation  from,  on  lit- 
erary form,  149. 

'  Flnvoy,  L",  de  Chaucer  \  Bukton,' 
stanza  of,  92. 

'  Eve  of  St.  Agnes,"  Keats's,  stanza 
of,  iao-125. 

Exceptional  feet  in  Shakespeare's 
verse,  examples  of,  51-56;  in 
Tennyson's  '  I'rinccss'  and 
"  Idylls  of  the  King,"  56-68. 

'  Faerie  Queene,"  Spenser"s,  stanza 

of,  87-107. 
Fairfax,  Edward,  stanza  of  his  Tas- 

so's    "Jerusalem    Delivered,"    90, 

9«- 
Fairfax,    Thomas,    Ix)rd,    Milton"s 

sonnet  and  eulogy  upon,  i66, 167. 
Feeling,  its  unifying  action,  i,  2.  140, 
Feet  in  English  verse,  3.  4. 
Female  rhymes,  Italian,  99,  loa 


INDEX. 


229 


'  Ferrex    and    Porrex '    (or,    *Gor- 

boduc"),  first  English  tragedy  in 

blank  verse,  189. 
Filicaja,  Vincenzo,  172. 
fletcher.Giles,  stanza  of  his '  Christ's 

Victory  and  Triumpli,'  135,  136. 
Fletcher,    Phineas,    stanza    of    his 

'  Purple  Island,"  134,  135. 
'Flight  of  the  Duchess,'  Browning's, 

its  double  and  triple  rhymes,  26. 
Forman,  H.  Buxton,  quoted  on  the 

sonnet,  146. 
Formulation  of  impressions,  133. 

Garnett,  Richard,  note  by,  on  Mil- 
ton's sonnet  '  To  Mr.  Lawrence," 
169. 

George,  A.  J.,  note  by,  on  Words- 
worth's '  Afterthought,"  169. 

'Gertrude  of  Wyoming,"  Campbell's, 
108. 

Goethe,  quotation  on  literary  form, 
from  Eckermann's  '  Gesprache 
mit  Goethe,'  149. 

'Gorboduc'  (or,  'Ferrex  and  Por- 
rex'), first  English  tragedy  in 
blank  verse,  189. 

Gray,  Thomas,  4. 

Grimoald,  Nicholas,  his  blank  verse, 
188,  189. 

Guest,  Edwin,  quoted  on  stanza  of 
Prior's  '  Ode  on  the  battle  of 
Ramillies,"  130. 

Harmony  and  rhyme,  the  fusing  and 
combining  agencies  of  the  stan- 
za, 21,  22. 

Haydon,  R.  B.,  Wordsworth's  son- 
net to,  152. 

Hood,  Thomas,  the  double  and 
triple  rhymes  of  his  '  Bridge  of 
Sighs,'  30;  his  sonnet  on '  Silence,' 
160-162. 

Howard,    Henry,   Earl    of    Surrey, 


introduced  the  sonnet  into  Eng- 
lish literature,  183 ;  his  blank 
verse,  188. 

'  Hudibras,'  Butler's,  23. 

Hughes,  John,  quoted  on  Spenser's 
stanza,  88,  89. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  his  gallery  of  pictures 
from  Spenser's  '  Faerie  Queene,' 
104-106. 

Italian  female  rhymes,  99,  100. 
'  In  Memoriam,'  Tennyson's,  stanza 
of,  70-77. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  his  '  Essay  on 
Milton's  versification,"  35-40 ;  con- 
founds harmony  with  uniformity, 

38. 
Jonson,  Ben,  stanza  of  elegy  in  his 
'  Underwoods,'  70. 

Keats,  John,  his  use  of  Spenser's 
stanza,  120-125. 

Keightley,  Thomas,  notes  by,  on  Mil- 
ton's sonnets,  155,  157,  167,  168. 

King  James"s  Bible,  alliteration  in, 
16. 

Latham"s  method  of  metrical  nota- 
tion, 4. 
Literary  culture,  true  aim  of,  133. 
Longfellow's    Dante    sonnets,    153, 

154.  156. 

'  Lotos  Eaters,'  Tennyson's,  Spen- 
serian stanzas  of,  132. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  quoted  on  the  alex- 
andrine of  Spenser's  stanza,  93, 
94;  on  the  pictorial  character  of 
the  '  Faerie  Queene,*  loi. 

'  Lycidas,'  Milton's,  epilogue  of,  an 
ottava  rima,  91,  92. 

Macaulay,  T.  B.,  quoted  on  Milton's 
sonnets,  172. 


'30 


INDEX. 


Marlowe,  Christopher,  his  blank 
verse,  189-191. 

Masson,  David,  quotation  from  his 
essay  on  '  Drvden  and  the  litera- 
ture o(  the  Restoration,'  107  ;  note 

W.  154- 

'  Maurice,  To  the  Rev.  F.  D.,'  Ten- 
nyson's, its  stanza,  84,  85. 

Melody,  the  fusing  agency  of  a  verse, 
4 ;  examples  of,  5-8 ;  consonantal, 
9-18. 

Metre.effects  produced  by  variations 
of.  32-34. 

Michelangelo,  referred  to  as  a  son- 
neteer, 144.  147. 

Milton,  John,  Dr.  Johnson's  stric- 
tures upon  his  blank  verse,  35-40; 
his  use  of  exceptional  feet,  44-46; 
perfection  of  his  verse  due  some- 
what to  his  blindness,  46 ;  epilogue 
to  his  '  Lycidas,'  an  otlava  rttna 
stanza,  91,  92;  the  sunza  of  ode 
'  On  the  morning  of  Christ's  nativ- 
ity,' 136, 137 ;  of  his  elegy  '  On  the 
death  of  a  fair  infant,'  138 ;  son- 
nets: 'To  Cyriac  Skinner,'  151; 
'  When  the  assault  was  intended 
to  the  city,"  154,  155 ;  '  On  his  be- 
ing arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three,'  157  ;  *  On  the  Lord  General 
Fairfax  at  the  siege  of  Colchester," 
166,  167;  'To  Mr.  Lawrence,'  169, 
170;  *  To  the  Lord  General  Crom- 
well, May,  165a,'  171;  eulogy  on  the 
I .'ird  General  Fairfax,  166, 167  ;  his 
bl.mk  verse,  193-2^0 ;  its  two  grand 
features,  193;  the  variety  of  its 
pauses,  194.  195;  examples  of  the 
several  kinds  of  pauses  or  stops, 
196-aio ;  examples  of  verse  groups 
(mm  the  ■  Paradise  Ix)St,'  aia-ai8. 

'  Monk's  Tale,'  Chaucer's,  example 

of  kianza  of,  9a,  93. 
Monosyllabic  words,  their  use  in  ex- 


pressing strong  passion,  43 ;    ref- 
erences to  illustrative  passages  in 
Shakespeare's  Flays,  43. 
'  My  Sister's  Sleep,'  D.  G.  Rossetti's, 
stanza  of,  70. 

'  Ode  on  the  Passions,'  Collins's,  a 
good  rhyme  study,  23-25. 

'  Ode  to  a  Skylark,'  Shelley's,  stanza 
of,  139-141. 

Ottava  rima,  used  in  Fairfax's 
I  I  asso,  90,  91 ;  m  epilogue  to 
Milton's  'Lycidas,'  91,  92;  in 
Byron's  '  Don  Juan,"  '  Beppo,' 
'  Morgante  Maggiore,"  and  '  Vis- 
ion of  Judgment,"  92. 

'  Palace  of  Art,'  Tennyson's,  its 
stanza,  81-84. 

Pattison,  Mark,  quoted  on  Milton's 
sonnets,  171,  172;  on  the  normal 
type  of  the  sonnet,  174,  175;  on 
Milton's  distinction  in  the  history 
of  the  sonnet,  183-185. 

Petrarch,  referred  to  as  a  sonneteer, 
144,  147. 

Pictorial  adaptedness  of  the  stanza 
of  Tennyson's  '  Palace  of  Art,'  80- 
83;  of  Spenser's  stanza,  100-106. 

Po|>e,  Alexander,  quoted  on  picto- 
rial character  of  the  '  Faerie 
Queene,'  loi ;  an  alexandrine 
verse  of,  138. 

Prior,  Matthew,  stanza  of  his  '  Ode 
on  the  battle  of  Ramillics,'  139; 
Dr.  Johnson's  opinion  of  it,  139. 

'  Purple  Island,'  Phineas  Fletcher's, 
stanza  of,  134,  135. 

Reading,  a  condition  of  good,  49. 
'  Revolt    of    Islam,'    Shelley's,    the 

stanza  of,  111-117. 
Rhyme,  a  combining  agency  of  the 

stanza,  aa;    definition  of,  aa;    ar. 


INDEX. 


231 


enforcing  agency  of  the  individual 
verse,  23 ;  the  emphasis  imparted 
by,  illustrated,  23-25 ;  Byron's  use 
of  double  rhymes,  in  '  Don  Juan,' 
26-29;  Shakespeare's  use  of,  30, 
31;  examples  of  Italian  female 
rhymes,  from  Ariosto,  99,  100; 
Warton,  Beattie,  and  Christopher 
North,  quoted  on  English  rhymes, 
99,  100. 

Rhythm,  defined,  2. 

Robertson,  Rev.  F\  W.,  quoted,  on 
worldliness,  162. 

'  Roderick,"  Southey's,  the  blank 
verse  of,  222. 

Rossetti,  D.  G.,  stanza  of  his  '  My 
Sister's  Sleep,'  70. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  his  '  Don  Roder- 
ick,' 108. 

Selden's '  Table  Talk,'  passage  from, 
on  verse,  18. 

Sestet  of  a  sonnet,  its  function,  158. 

Shakespeare,  examples  from,  of 
melody,  5,  8 ;  his  use  of  allitera- 
tion, 14,  15 ;  of  reiterated  rhyme, 
30,  31 ;  exceptional  feet  in  his 
verse,  51-56;  his  Sonnets,  179- 
182;  blank  verse,  191;  passages 
referred  to,  in  his  Plays,  illustrat- 
ing the  progressive  stages  of  his 
blank  verse,  191,  192. 

Shelley,  P.  B.,  his  use  of  Spenser's 
stanza,  in  his  '  Laon  and  Cythna  ' 
and  'Adonais,'  111-120;  stanza 
of  his '  Ode  to  a  Skylark,'  139-141 ; 
blank  verse  of  his  'Alastor;  or, 
the  spirit  of  Solitude,'  222,  223. 

Shenstone's  '  Schoolmistress,'  108. 

'Sohrab  and  Rustum,'  Matthew 
Arnold's,  blank  verse  of,  223,  224. 

Sonnet,  The,  treated,  143-185;  diffi- 
culties of  its  composition,  145, 146 ; 
its     structure,     146;     its    rhyme 


schemes,  147;  sonnets  variously 
irregular,  158-175. 

'  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese,'  Mrs. 
Browning's,  175-179. 

Southey,  Robert,  varied  metres  of 
his  '  Curse  of  Kehama,'  32 ;  the 
blank  verse  of  his  '  Roderick,'  222. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  his  use  of  allitera- 
tion, 13 ;  of  exceptional  feet,  41- 
43;  his  stanza  treated,  87-107; 
examples  of  his  melodious  mar- 
shalling of  words,  87,  88;  the 
Italian  ottava  rima,  not  the  basis 
of  his  stanza,  88,  89 ;  his  indebted- 
ness to  Chaucer  for  his  stanza, 
92 ;  its  pictorial  adaptedness,  100- 
106;  its  employment  by  subse- 
quent poets,  108-133  '<  '*s  influence 
on  other  modes  of  stanza  struc- 
ture, 134-142 ;  his  •  Amoretti,'  182, 
183. 

Stanza,  defined,  21  (note). 

Symonds,  John  Addington,  his  esti- 
mate of  Marlowe's  blank  verse, 
189 ;  quotation  from,  on  the  secret 
of  complex  and  melodious  blank 
verse,  219. 

Tasso,  Fairfax's  translation  of  his 
'  Jerusalem  Delivered,'  90,  91 ; 
referred  to  as  a  sonneteer,  144, 
147. 

Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  quoted  on  blank 
verse,  221. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  examples  of  the 
melody  of  his  verse,  5,  6,  7 ;  his 
use  of  alliteration,  16-18 ;  exam- 
ples from  his  '  Morte  d'Arthur' 
of  exceptional  feet,  43,  44;  from 
his  '  Princess'  and  '  Idylls  of  the 
King,"  56-68;  the  stanzas  of  'In 
Memoriam,'  'The  Two  Voices," 
■  The  Palace  of  Art,' '  The  Daisy." 
and  '  To  the  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice," 


112 


mDEX. 


analyzed,  69-86 ;  his  use  of  Spen- 
sor's  suinz.i.  111  '  Luios  Eaters," 
13a ;  blank  verse  in  his  '  Princess ' 
and  '  Idylls  of  the  King,'  vj\ 

Thomson,  James,  his  use  of  Sjjen- 
scr's  stanza,  in  'The  C;isile  of 
Indolence,'  109-111. 

TodhuntLT.John, quoted  on  Shelley's 
use  of  Spenser's  stanza,  iia. 

Tomlinson,  Charles,  quoted  on  the 
structure  of  the  sonnet,  148;  on 
Wordsworth's  sonnets,  151,  152; 
on  sonnet '  To  Catherine  Words- 
worth,' 168. 

Trench,  R.  C,  quoted  on  the  son- 
net, 144,  145. 

Triple  rhymes,  29,  30. 

'  Two  Voices,  The,"  Tennyson's,  its 
stanza,  78. 

Unifying  action  of  feeling,  i.  2.  140. 

Variety  of  measures,   examples  of, 

51-68. 
'  Vision     of    William     concerning 

Piers   the   Plowman,"   alliteration 

of.  13. 
Voice,   a    well-cultivated,    required 

for    the    appreciation     of    poetic 

forms,  log. 
Vowels   as  an    element   of   melody, 

18. 


Waller,  Edmund,  Dryden's  estimate 
of  his  verse,  106,  107. 

Warton,  Thomas,  quoted  on  Spen- 
ser's stanza,  99;  note  by,  on  Mil- 
ton's sonnet  to  Cromwell.  171. 

Watts,  Theodore,  'The  Sonnet's 
Voice,'  by,  144.  145. 

Wilson,  Prof.  John  (Christopher 
North),  quoted  on  English 
rhymes,  loo. 

Wordsworth,  William,  varied 
metres  of  his  ode  on  '  Intimations 
of  Immortality,'  32-34;  sonnets: 
'To  R.  B.  Haydon.  Esq.,'  152; 
'  The  world  is  too  much  with  us,' 
»5S.  156;  'A  Poet  I  he  hath  put 
his  heart  to  school,'  159;  'Most 
sweet  it  is  with  un-uplifted  eyes," 
160;  'Milton,'  i6a,  163;  'O 
Friend !  I  know  not  which  way  I 
must  look,"  163,  164;  'To  Cath- 
erine Wordsworth,'  167,  168; 
'  Afterthought,'  169  ;  '  Thought  of 
a  Hriton  on  the  subjugation  of 
Switzeriand,'  173,  174;  letter  to 
Alexander  Dycc  on  the  sonnet, 
164,  165;  blank  verse  of  '  Vew 
Trees,'  '  Lines  com|x>scd  a  few 
miles  above  Tintem  Abbey,* 
'Nutting.'  'Michael,'  'The  Prel- 
ude,' and  '  The  Excursion,'  aaa. 


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full  maps,  illustratiiiiis,  and  chronological  synopsis. 
"An  admirable  piece  of  work." —  Prcf<tsor  Beume,  AdeWert  Colltg*. 

MYERS  AND  ALLEN'S 
Ancient  History  for  Schools  and  Colleges. —  Introduction  price,  ^1.50. 
Ihis  consists  of  Myers's  Eastern  Nations  and   Greece    and    Allen's 
Rome  bound  together. 

MYERS'S 
History  of  Rome.  —  Introd.  price,  $1.00.     With  full  maps,  illustrations, 
tables,  and  chronological  summaries.     This,  hound  with  Myers's  East- 
ern Nations  and  Greece,  is  Myers's  Ancient  History.      Price,  I1.50. 

MYERS'S 
Mediaeval  and  Modern  History.  —  Introduction   ptice,  I1.50.     With   a 

full  series  of  colored  maps. 

"  Sure  to  be  liked  by  teachers  and  pupils  and  by  the  general  reader." —  Pro/ettor 
Show,  H'aihington  University. 

MYERS'S 
General  History.  —  Introduction  price,  $1.50.     With   full  maps,  illustra- 
tions, tables,  and  summaries. 

"  The  best  text-book  in  universal  history  for  beginners  that  we  are   acquainted 
with."  —  Pro/eisor  Steams,  University  of  Wisconsin. 

MONTGOMERY'S 
Leading  Facts  of  English  History.  —  Introduction  price,  ^1.12.     With 

full  ma[)S  and  tables. 

"  I  h.ivc  never  seen  anything  at  all  equal  to  it  for  the  niche  it  was  intended  to  fill." 
—  Professor  Perry,  Williams  College. 

MONTGOMERY'S 
Leading  Facts  of  French  History.—  Introduction  price,  J1.12.     With 
full  maps  and  tal)les. 
"  It  is  a  marked  advance  on  any  available  work  of  its  scope."  —  7*Ar  Nation. 

MONTGOMERY'S 

Leading  Facts  of  American  History.  —  Introduction  price,  Ji.oo.     With 

full  maps,  illustrations,  summaries  of  dates,  topical  analyses,  tables,  etc. 

"The  best   school   history   that   has  yet  ap|)earcd." — Principal   Rupert,   Boy*' 
High  School,  Pet t Simon,  Pa. 

EMERTON'S 

Introduction  to  the  Study  of  the  Middle  Ages.  —  Introduction  price, 

5ll2.     With  coloreil  maps,  original  and  ailapted. 

"  An  admirable  euidc  to  Ixith  teachers  and  pupils  in  the  tangled  period  of  which  it 
tjeals."  —  Professor  Usher,  Yale  College. 

And  many  other  valuable  historical  books. 
GINN  &  COMPANY,  Publishers,  Boston.  New  York,  Chicago,  and  London. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV  I  3  1956 


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